Airborne
by Space Viking
Summary: As a young Ensign aboard the Endurance, Sam's mischievous ways threaten to end her career. But when an Orion agent exposes her and her shipmates to a dangerous virus that removes inhibitions, it's up to Sam to contain the disease and bring them home alive. Set in 2405, introducing Sam Hayashi.
1. Grounded

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios. Star Trek Online is the creation of Cryptic and Perfect World. All are here used by myself for entertainment purposes only, without permission or intent to profit.

Author's Note: Sam's prank was inspired by a _Pardon My Planet_ cartoon, where the original Enterprise crew did this to Kirk using the "Priceless Selective Transport Option." That I think it's as funny as Sam does probably explains why I'm not allowed to own a transporter. The Tellun System was the site of the Original Series episode "Elaan of Troyius," which was itself an obvious pun on "Helen of Troy"—but still quite fun.

Melani D'ian (the Emerald Empress) is the head of the Orion Syndicate in the game, and closely allied with the Klingon Empire. Admiral Jorel Quinn and the _USS Montgomery Scott_ are Federation NPCs. There seems to be some dispute on the STO wiki as to just when the fighting at Korvat took place, as the official timeline states the invasion of that area began in 2405, but the _Montgomery Scott_ is elsewhere said to have been damaged defending Korvat in 2403: I went with the timeline's date. Stardates have been calculated with the help of the TNG Stardate Calculator available on TrekGuide .com and may be slightly out of sync with those used in the game's lore. Travel time was calculated using the Warp Calculator on anycalculator .com.

* * *

**Grounded**

USS Endurance_, Captain Nathaniel Ramsey's Log, Stardate 80220.1:_

_Our diplomatic mission to Juete has been completed successfully, ensuring Starfleet a source of medical supplies in case the fighting in the Hromi Cluster breaks out into a full-scale war. The Juetean medical symposium went very well, despite having an…unusual start. Somehow, Ensign Hayashi managed to reprogram the transporter to beam down Doctor Lenaris-but leave his pants on the transporter pad. No harm was done, but Lenaris is furious and he has a long list of charges he wants her brought up on. Honestly, having the youngest of the famous Belo-Hayashi family aboard has been more of a curse than a blessing. If her lack of discipline doesn't improve soon, Sam is going to ruin her career before it even gets started! As her captain and her friend, I'm determined to prevent that…even if it means administering a punishment she won't appreciate at the time: tough love is for parents and captains, I guess._

"Insubordination, sabotage, assault on a superior officer, misuse of Federation equipment, dereliction of duty…," Captain Ramsey read off the list and shook his head. He set the PADD down and gave Samantha Hayashi a serious look.

The human Ensign rolled her eyes and brushed a strand of hair away from her face and back into the smooth, jet-black bob-cut that framed her Oriental features. "Quite a list he's got there," she quipped. "Did he manage to get high treason on there, too? I think it's feeling lonely."

Ramsey crossed his arms. "This is no joking matter, Sam. At the very least, I'm going to have to put you on report."

"How can this _not_ be a joke?" Sam asked, pointing at the PADD. "_Assault on a superior officer_, seriously? I never even touched him. I never even _threatened_ to touch him."

The Captain glanced back down at the PADD. "It's _sexual_ assault, specifically," he said.

Sam made a face. "Ew, Doctor Lenaris? He's old enough to be my dad…not that some older men aren't cool and all," she added quickly, pointing at Ramsey. "But me, going after Lenaris Bekni? Nope, I'm definitely gonna plead _not guilty_ on that one!"

"You _did_ remove his pants," Ramsey reminded her.

"_With a transporter_," she said, emphasizing each word. "Like I said, no touching involved. I wouldn't even have _seen_ the end result if he hadn't insisted on me beaming him right back up."

"You put him down in the middle of the Juetean medical symposium-"

"At his specific request," Sam pointed out, smirking.

"-without his pants," Ramsey finished, leaning across his desk. "That wasn't at all what he had in mind, and he was understandably upset, young lady."

"It's not like he wasn't wearing underwear—at least, I hope not!" She stifled a laugh. The Captain just stared at her. "What? I know you think it's funny too!"

Ramsey's lip twitched up in a smile, but he caught it. He couldn't deny that when word had reached the bridge that a certain Ensign had somehow managed to beam the ship's crabby Bajoran doctor down to the symposium without his pants, he'd had trouble keeping himself from breaking into a throaty guffaw right there in front of everyone. But unlike the Ensign, he'd had the foresight to realize her prank would have consequences. "Do you want to know what isn't funny?" he asked, tapping the PADD. "Lenaris is pressing charges."

"It was a practical joke," Sam pleaded. "I didn't mean any harm."

"And you didn't cause any, thankfully. There was a little embarrassment on the Doctor's part, but the Jueteans have a very tolerant culture, so the symposium still went off without a hitch and we were able to obtain a much needed trade agreement to provide Starfleet with extra medical supplies, in case this war with the Klingons gets worse." He sat back and ran a hand through his graying hair. "But honestly, Sam, this is the third time you've been in my Ready Room in as many weeks—and each time it's the same old story. I can't keep letting you go like this!"

Sam sat straight. "You're not going to let his charges stand, are you? I mean, they're insane! I didn't do any of those things."

"I might let him try," Ramsey threatened.

Sam's eyes darted back and forth, visibly weighing her options. Then, of course, she realized the strength of her own position, as he'd expected she would, and called his bluff. She glared right back at him, her almond-shaped eyes narrowing. "I'd like to see him try," she said. "He doesn't have a leg to stand on, and you know I can get the best legal counsel in Federation space without even asking for it."

He did know it. The Belo-Hayashi family's legal team was legendary: they had to be, caring as they did for the legal concerns of no less than five interstellar celebrities with active careers as well as the owners of the Hayashi Industrial Group, one of the six largest corporate conglomerates in the quadrant, and the only one still controlled by humans. Of course, Ramsey imagined that Sam had strained even _their_ talents as a teenager. "You can't hide behind your family forever," he warned her. "One of these days, you're going to have to come out of their shadow and take some responsibility for your actions."

Sam didn't blink.

Ramsey sighed. "I admit, the charges are exaggerated, far out of proportion for this incident…but it is part of a pattern, and I can't allow it to continue."

"What are you saying?" Sam asked.

"I'm saying you rock the boat too much. You pull pranks and cause trouble every chance you get," said Ramsey. "Oh, you always make sure it's not _too much_ trouble for you to handle, not something people won't forgive and forget easily enough—but you're beginning to accumulate a record. In your six months on this ship, you've been put on report nearly a dozen times. You're trouble, Sam. You may be the best damn pilot in the fleet, but if you keep this up no captain is going to want you aboard his ship. You'll ruin your career with stunts like this. You have got to learn some self-control, some discipline."

"I have discipline," Sam insisted. "I wouldn't have made it this far without discipline."

"Then _exercise it_!" said Ramsey. He sat back in his chair and picked up the PADD. "You didn't assault anyone, you didn't damage anything, and you obeyed orders—if not to the spirit, at least to the letter-, but you definitely stand guilty of misusing Federation equipment. Even you can't deny that."

Sam shrugged and nodded.

"Then I'm confining you to quarters until further notice," said Ramsey.

Sam shot up out of her chair. "What?! For _misuse of equipment_?"

"For being an idiot who's throwing away her career on childish pranks!" Ramsey slammed down the PADD. "I'm giving you this as a warning, a chance to think about what you're doing, to yourself, to your future—hell, to Starfleet itself! We are at war! The Klingons have invaded the Hromi Cluster and just last week the _Montgomery Scott _was severely damaged at Korvat. We need every skilled officer, every skilled pilot we can lay hands on…and we can't afford to lose any to a simple lack of personal discipline and good judgment." Ramsey met her glare measure for measure, and this time, it was Sam who looked away first, glancing down at her boots.

"Understood, sir," she murmured.

"Good," said Ramsey.

Just then, his communicator chimed. "Bridge to Ramsey," said the ever-even voice of Commander Stendos, the ship's Vulcan first-officer.

Ramsey tapped his combadge. "Ramsey here."

"Starfleet Command is hailing us on subspace frequency 4," Stendos reported. "Vice Admiral Jorel Quinn is requesting to speak with you."

"I'll take it here," said Ramsey, turning to his viewer. The screen lit up with the insignia of Starfleet Command, followed a moment later by the face of the newly-promoted Trill Vice Admiral. "Admiral Quinn, it's been a while," said Ramsey.

"It certainly has, Nathan," said Quinn. "I didn't call to catch up on old times, though."

"I didn't think so," said Ramsey. "Now that our diplomatic mission is complete, I expect you'll be moving us to the front."

"Yes and no," said Quinn. "I've received word from Starfleet Intelligence that Naisa D'falas, a member of Melani D'ian's inner circle in the Orion Syndicate, is defecting with sensitive information about upcoming Klingon operations. Their plan was to meet her in the Tellun System, but her shuttle crashlanded in the Sigma Hydra system, less than fifteen light-years from your current location. You're the closest ship, and I've been asked to divert you. We need to retrieve Naisa as quickly as possible."

"Let me guess, the Emerald Empress of the Syndicate is missing her," said Ramsey.

"Something like that," the Admiral confirmed. "Starfleet Intelligence thinks the Syndicate knows she's defected, and may have alerted the Klingons to the situation as well, but so far we seem to be the only ones who know where she is."

"Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

Quinn nodded. "Naisa picked a pretty terrible spot to crash. The Sigma Hydra system is currently highly unstable."

"Militarily?" asked Ramsey. "To the point where a _Sovereign_-class might want backup?"

"Not that kind of unstable, I'm afraid. It's _gravitationally_ unstable. The binary stars at the system's heart are currently undergoing a merger, and that's creating gravitational distortions and plasma storms throughout the entire system. The distortions are tricky for a starship to navigate, but it'll take a good shuttle pilot to get through them without getting caught in a plasma storm."

"Don't worry," Sam interjected, grinning in the background, "He's got the best!" Ramsey turned to glare at her, cursing himself for not dismissing her before he started talking to the Vice Admiral.

But when the Vice Admiral saw Sam waving from the corner of the image, he just smiled. "I see you have the Academy's _star pupil_," he said, with a touch of irony.

"I have a couple good pilots," Ramsey said. "I'll send the other one."

"Really? I was under the impression Miss Hayashi's piloting skills were legendary, at least with shuttlecraft."

"So are her pranks," said Ramsey.

"Ah," said Quinn, seeming to understand. "I see she hasn't changed a bit."

"I'll see what I can do, about her and the defector," said Ramsey.

"Good luck on both fronts," said the Admiral. "Quinn out." The screen returned to an image of the Starfleet Command insignia, and then went black.

Ramsey tapped his combadge. "Ramsey to Stendos. Have the helm lay in a course for the Sigma Hydra system, maximum warp."

"Understood, sir," said the Vulcan. There was a pause. "Course laid in. Estimated time to arrival, 7 hours, 22 minutes."

"Engage," said Ramsey. "When you're done, I want to see you and Lieutenant Tanner in my ready room for a mission briefing. Ramsey out."

He tapped the combadge off and turned to Sam. "What are you still doing here?" he demanded.

"I thought you might need help," she said, giving her best innocent smile.

Ramsey saw right through it. "You mean you thought if you could find some reason why I'd need you, you could use your talent as leverage to get yourself off the hook again?" He shook his head. "Not this time, Sam. You've got a lesson in discipline to learn, and I suggest you get to it. Like I said, you're confined to quarters until further notice."

"But, please-"

"No buts!" He glared at her. "Do I need to call security to escort you, Ensign?"

She hung her head. "No, sir."

"Good," he said. "Dismissed!"

Ensign Sam Hayashi walked slowly out of his ready room and into the corridor. Captain Ramsey sighed at her retreating back and turned to the work of organizing the defecting Orion's retrieval. This was going to be an interesting day...


	2. Further Notice

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios. Star Trek Online is the creation of Cryptic and Perfect World. Mobile Suit Gundam SEED Destiny is the creation and property of Sunrise, Inc. All are here used by myself for entertainment purposes only, without permission or intent to profit.

Author's Note: I'm not sure if the anime referenced here would even exist in the Star Trek timeline, since it was produced in our timeline in 2004-2005, which would place it just a few years after the Eugenics Wars in the Star Trek timeline. I also confess to only having seen a few episodes of it, so I cannot vouch for its "classic" status like Sam—but I thought it an important part of her character that she be into mecha anime. The "desktop viewer" or "viewer" that appears in this chapter and the last is an odd little piece of Federation technology. It's the little personal computers that look vaguely like laptops that seem to have appeared on every ship of every era from every culture—and yet are never named on screen! According to a note on Memory Alpha, the script calls them viewers, so that's the name I'll use too.

Stardates have been calculated with the help of the TNG Stardate Calculator available on TrekGuide .com and may be slightly out of sync with those used in the game's lore.

* * *

**Further Notice**

USS Endurance_, Junior Flight Control Officer Samantha Hayashi's Log, Stardate 80221.4:_

_It seems my practical joke on Doc Lenaris didn't go over too well: certainly not with him, and not with the Old Man—I mean, Captain Ramsey—either. Lenaris tried to press charges, but Ramsey dismissed them all, except for one. He's confined me to quarters because he says I need to learn discipline. Maybe he's right, but I'm not learning anything while I'm stuck in my room with nothing to do, waiting around while the rest of the crew is out there making a difference. At least the down time gives me plenty of time to update my log, watch some of my anime collection…and wonder if I really have a future with Starfleet after all._

The com signal on the desktop viewer in Sam's quarters chimed over the background music. Sam sighed and roused herself from her stupor and paused the video she was watching on her PADD, setting it facedown among the rumpled sheets of her bed. The chime continued, insistent. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she assured it. She pulled on her uniform jacket, just in case, but left it unbuttoned because the odds of her getting a caller who would mind seeing her grey undershirt were vanishingly small. She brushed her hair out of her eyes with one hand and keyed the call acceptance on the viewer with the other.

The screen lit up with the image of a young woman with curly dark hair and Oriental features: Marla Belo, three-time TriSystem Academy Award-winning holomovie actress and fashion model…and Sam's older sister. Marla flashed her a charming smile. "Sam! It's good to see you!" A pause. "Sorry, did I wake you up?"

Sam grunted and fell into the chair in front of the screen. "I wish," she said.

Marla's smile faded. "Is something wrong?"

Sam shrugged. "The Old Man says I'm grounded 'until further notice.'"

Marla looked down. "What is it this time?" she asked. "Drinking?"

Sam sat up. "What?! No! You know I only have the one bottle of Romulan Ale, and I'm saving it." She shook her head. "Why are we even talking about this? It's contraband. I officially don't have it and have never seen it before in my life. …Is this a secure channel?"

Marla laughed. "Alright, just checking," she said. "So, if it wasn't that, what was it?"

"I pulled a prank on Doc Lenaris." Sam's lips curled upward a bit, remembering.

"Mm-hmm?" Marla leaned closer.

Sam leaned forward conspiratorially. "I reprogrammed the molecular imaging sensors of the transporter to dematerialize him and everything on him…except his pants!"

Marla put a hand to her mouth to stifle a snort of laughter. "Sam! You're horrible," she teased.

Sam's smile faded. "Yeah, the Old Man thinks so, too."

Marla's face sobered as well. "I thought you said you and the Captain got along."

"We did," said Sam. "But he gets tired of seeing me in his office. They all do."

"Well, they wouldn't see you so much if you'd stop causing so much trouble," Marla said, her eyes roving to the ceiling.

Sam sighed and sat back. "Not you, too."

"Hey, it's your life: I'm not gonna tell you how to run it," said Marla. "That's Mom's department."

Sam shuddered. Now _there_ was someone she was glad she hadn't heard from in a while.

"All I'm gonna say is Starfleet's always gonna be a stickler for rules. They may be a bit more relaxed with all the scientists, explorers, and doctors in their ranks, but they're still a military organization at heart. You knew this when you signed up."

"Yeah, I knew it, and I haven't forgotten." She shrugged. "I guess I just expected Doc Lenaris to be a better sport, you know?"

Marla stifled a laugh. "You expected a—how did you put it?—_crabby old Bajoran windbag_ to be a good sport about you publicly unpantsing him with a transporter?"

Sam giggled. "Yeah, I guess that was a _little_ silly of me. I just couldn't help myself, though, once the idea was in my head!"

"_Couldn't_, or _didn't want to_?"

"A little of both, I guess," Sam admitted.

Marla giggled. "Well, now that that's out of the way, what have you been doing to keep yourself occupied, Miss Solitary Confinement?"

"Rewatching some favorite anime episodes," she said, motioning to the PADD on her bed. "Mobile Suit Gundam SEED Destiny."

"Those old things?" Marla pretended to gag.

"Hey, these are heirlooms of our Japanese ancestry," Sam declared. "Classics of human entertainment."

"They're crude sequences of sketches flashed in front of a 2D camera: barely a step beyond flip-books," said Marla. "Sorry, sis, but if you want to see real entertainment, you're gonna have to step onto the holodeck like the rest of us."

Sam shook her head vigorously. "I will not be seduced by your flashy technological tricks from the simplicity that is anime."

"I could have a copy of my latest holomovie sent to the _Endurance_ with my compliments: _Under Romulan Stars_."

"Another Romulan holomovie?" This time Sam pretended to gag.

"Hey, they're getting excellent reviews. Everyone loves them," said Marla. "The saga of a once-great empire shattered by fate, a proud people struggling to rebuild their civilization from the ashes, their struggle among the stars, between the Federation on one side and the Klingon Empire on the other…"

"You make it sound so romantic," Sam said, rolling her eyes.

"It is romantic, in fact," said Marla. "My character has two rival love interests who fight each other to the death."

"I'm sure the Romulan people will love it."

Marla rolled her eyes. "Look, it may not be a completely accurate portrayal, but it generates public interest and sympathy in their plight. With enough support from interested citizens, the Federation Council is sure to increase military and material aid to the Romulan people."

"Yeah, about that…you do know that Sela is the current Praetor of the Romulan Star Empire…and that she's never been exactly friendly toward the Federation, right?"

Marla huffed. "My business is entertainment, not politics. Besides, when was the last time you did something that could change the lives of millions of people?"

"I signed up for Starfleet _because_ we change the lives of millions of people," Sam countered.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Have you?"

Sam sighed. Honestly, the most important thing she'd done so far was take a _Sovereign_-class starship on routine Warp 5 flights and beam one Doctor down to a somewhat-important medical symposium—sans pants. "I refuse to answer that question on the grounds I may incriminate myself," she said.

Marla's expression softened. "You know, my offer still stands. If things don't work out for you in Starfleet, I can still get you a guest slot in my next holomovie."

"I'd rather be in an anime, or unearthing one from ancient ruins," said Sam. "Besides, what makes you think that the words _Samantha Hayashi_ and _actress_ even belong in the same scentence?"

"I'm sure the fans would just love to see _the fifth Belo girl_," said Marla.

Sam huffed. "I'm sure they would, but I'm not a Belo girl," she said. When her mother and father had married, her mother—a renowned Portuguese-American model—had opted to keep her last name. Mr. Hayashi and Mrs. Belo had thus decided to let each of their six children choose which last name to bear on their sixteenth birthday. Of the five girls, Sam was the only one who chose to be a Hayashi, and not a celebrity or a model, as her four older sisters—the Belo girls, as they were called—had become. But that didn't keep fans of the family's celebrity status from wishing she'd chose otherwise and dreaming about _the fifth Belo girl_, when they were being polite…and the _lost Belo girl_ when they were being less sensitive.

"It's your choice," said Marla. "But I'm sure you clean up well enough to be on holorecorder with any of us."

_I 'clean up well enough?'_ Sam touched her uniform self-consciously. "Thanks, sis…I think."

Just then, Sam's combadge chirped. "Ramsey to Hayashi," it said.

She tapped her chest instinctively before remembering she'd taken her combadge off and set it on the desk…along with everything else. She rifled through stacks of PADDs, un-recycled food containers, and mismatched ancient pottery, searching for her combadge. It chirped again. "Ramsey to Hayashi, respond!"

Finally, Sam spotted it, lying on the floor. She must have knocked it off sometime. She glanced back at her viewer, where the screen still showed Marla, watching her in confusion. "Sorry, sis, got to go!" she said quickly, and ended the transmission. Then she dove for her combadge and tapped it before it could chirp again. "Hayashi here, sir!" she said breathlessly.

"Ensign, report to the Bridge immediately," Ramsey said.

"The Bridge, sir? But I thought I was confined-"

"Take this as your _further notice_," said the Captain. "The shuttle with Commander Stendos and Lieutenant Tanner aboard has retrieved the defector, but they've become caught in a gravimetric shear. We need you to pilot a second shuttle in and rescue them. Understood?"

"Understood, sir!" said Sam, standing.

"Good. Report to the Bridge with Doctor Lenaris and Ensign Bretxal for a complete briefing on the situation," said Ramsey. "You launch within the hour!"

"Yes, sir!" said Sam. She grinned and started fastening her uniform jacket.


	3. Dead in Space

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios. Star Trek Online is the creation of Cryptic and Perfect World. All are here used by myself for entertainment purposes only, without permission or intent to profit.

Author's Note: Additional liberties taken with the _USS Montgomery Scott_ from Star Trek Online lore by inserting a crew casualty. Plasma coolant is mentioned in _Star Trek: First Contact_. It's the stuff they use to kill the Borg queen, and seems to be quite dangerous. The Type-11 shuttle the one used by Picard and Worf in their dogfight with Data in _Star Trek: Insurrection_. Ex Astris Scientia has the length of that shuttle as 16 meters. The cockpit set seemed to include two side doors, which you could barely see. I've made these the access to the aft cabin, which is never shown or mentioned on screen (but I think it makes sense for there to _be_ an aft cabin, since 16 meters is almost twice the length of the single-room shuttles like the Type-9). The affects of an Orion female's pheromones on a human female were seen in the Enterprise episode "Bound." I'm not exactly sure what the difference between a holophoto and a regular photo is supposed to be, the props generally look identical, though sometimes framed holophoto's can be animated. I'm assuming that holophoto's can be signed and made into posters like regular ones.

Stardates have been calculated with the help of the TNG Stardate Calculator available on TrekGuide .com and may be slightly out of sync with those used in the game's lore.

* * *

**Dead in Space**

USS Endurance_, Junior Flight Control Officer Samantha Hayashi's Log, Supplemental:_

_My confinement ended after only twelve hours. Captain Ramsey has ordered me, Ensign Bratxal, and Doctor Lenaris to take another Type-11 shuttle out to rescue the stranded Shuttlecraft Alpha, with Lieutenant Amelia Tanner and Commander Stendos aboard, along with the Orion defector, Naisa D'falas. They've been caught on a gravimetric distortion inside the highly unstable Sigma Hydra system. Finally, I have something useful to do, something I enjoy. The trip should be a breeze, but so far we've been unable to raise the other shuttle. Maybe there's too much interference with the plasma storms. It should clear up as we come closer, though. We'll see._

"There's a plasma storm-front bearing zero-three-five mark two-four," said Ensign Bratxal from the co-pilot's seat. "Impact in thirty seconds!"

"I see it," said Sam, adjusting the shuttle's heading. "Find me a gravimetric eddy. We'll hide in its wake."

The Bolian science officer's blue fingers danced over the sensor controls. "Got it. There's one up head, range 400 kilometers. It's only 18 meters across, though. Are you sure you can get us behind it?"

"Are you kidding? This'll be a piece of cake," said Sam, with a daredevil grin.

"A piece of what?" asked the Bolian.

"Oh, nevermind! It's a human expression," she said. "Just send the eddy's coordinates to my screen." Her console chimed almost immediately, displaying the location of the eddy and several small gravimetric sheers that lay between the shuttle and its objective.

"Twenty seconds to impact!"

Sam's fingers flew over the controls. She kicked up the shuttle's thrusters to maximum power and the agile craft shot forward. She slalomed past the gravimetric shears, over one, under another, spinning the shuttle sideways to get it between two. Then, she spun the shuttle around under the eddy and killed its momentum with a microsecond burst from its impulse engine.

"Impact in ten seconds!"

She activated the reaction control thrusters, fine-tuning the shuttle's position, bringing it as close to the eddy as she dared and making sure it was on exactly the opposite side of the eddy from the approaching plasma storm.

"Five…four…three…two…one!"

The plasma storm came as a wall of red-orange flame. When it met the gravimetric eddy, it broke on the gravitational disturbance, unable to penetrate it, and flowed around it like surf flowed around a rock. It passed around the shuttle, missing its nose by less than a meter, and then raged on, departing toward the outer parts of the system.

Bratxal sat back, folding his hands across his lap. "I didn't know you could hide a 16-meter shuttle in the gravitational wake of an 18-meter eddy, but I have to say well done! They told me they had a good pilot on the _Endurance_ when I transferred last week, but they never told me how good."

"Very good," said Sam, beaming. "The best, by some accounts."

"The best in my book, that's for sure," said Bratxal. He tapped his console. "Looks like this plasma storm is clearing up. It should dissipate in a minute or two."

Sam nodded. "We'll continue on to Shuttlecraft Alpha when it clears." She leaned back in her chair. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. _Now this is the kind of flying I signed up for_, she told herself, _Fast, thrilling, and with a purpose. Starfleet isn't so bad after all! I mean, it's not like anyone here is trying to make me be like my sisters or my Mom all the time._

"I hear you're also the lost Belo sister," Bratxal interrupted, clueless to Sam's thoughts.

Same opened her eyes and glared at him. "You did not just say that."

The Bolian looked over at her. "Sorry, was the relationship supposed to be a secret?"

"Technically, no." She shrugged. "I mean, family's great and all, but I just don't want anyone thinking they have to treat me all different because of my family connections—and I certainly don't want them to think of me like they think of my sisters."

"What's wrong with how they think of yours sisters?"

"My sisters are celebrities," she explained. "They're legends, icons, teenage fantasies, and gossip-subjects all rolled into one. Me, I just want to be treated like everybody else. I'm just a normal young human woman, after all!"

"Uh, huh," said Bratxal, smirking. He looked around, verifying that Doctor Lenaris was still in the aft cabin, before he continued. "And I suppose that's why you unpantsed Doc Lenaris in front of the Jutean Symposium, to convince people you're normal."

Sam laughed. "No, that I did simply because I thought it would be funny."

Bratxal laughed a little himself. "You have an impeccable sense of humor, you know. Too bad about the aftermath," he said.

Sam didn't respond. She bit her lip and leaned forward, tapping her controls. "Looks like the plasma storm's passed," she said, changing the subject. "Help me plot a course the rest of the way to Shuttlecraft Alpha. We should be there in a few minutes."

The Bolian sat forward, fingers playing over the sensor console. "The next plasma storm should be here in a little over an hour and a half: plenty of time for us to get back to _Endurance_."

"And the shuttle?"

"Lodged on a gravimetric shear, bearing three-four-nine mark zero-one-oh, range 9,000 kilometers. We should be close enough to tractor them out in a minute."

Sam nodded, adjusting the shuttle's trajectory. She glanced at the sensor readout as she did so. "That's odd," she said.

"What is?"

Sam pointed to the readout. "The shear the shuttle's lodged on isn't very strong, but they've been stuck on it for over two hours now, almost two and a half. They should have been able to break themselves free by now." She frowned. "Tanner's a good pilot, but it's like she's not even trying here."

Bratxal shrugged. "I confess I don't know that much about flying," he said. "We should be able to tug her free, though, right."

"Oh, sure thing," she said. "A little boost from their engines, a little tug from our tractors, and we'll have two shuttles heading home, none the worse for wear." She paused, sending the shuttle swooping past a gravimetric distortion. "Why don't you go ahead and open a channel with them. Let them know we're almost there."

The Bolian nodded. He keyed the comm. "Shuttlecraft Alpha, this is Shuttlecraft Bravo. We're here to get you out of the gravimetric shear." There was silence. "Shuttlecraft Alpha, do you read?" Still no answer. "Shuttlecraft Alpha, Lieutenant Tanner please respond." Nothing.

"Are you sure they're receiving our hail?" asked Sam.

Bratxal nodded. "I'm getting automated confirmation of reception from the other shuttle, but nothing more—no actual response."

"Well, that's a little odd," said Sam. "Maybe their transmitter has been damaged."

"There's no visible damage to the shuttle's outer hull, and the shear should have protected them from the plasma storms."

Sam frowned. She brought her shuttle to rest relative to the trapped one. "I'm going to lock a tractor beam onto them. Let's try to at least let them know what's going on."

"I better get the Doctor up here too, just in case." He tapped his combadge. "Bratxal to Lenaris. We've arrived at Shuttlecraft Alpha's coordinates."

"Very well," said Lenaris. A moment later, the door to the aft cabin slid open and the Bajoran doctor stomped in. He took a seat at one of the consoles on the far side of the cockpit and crossed his arms. He didn't see too thrilled to be in the same room as Sam Hayashi. For the moment, the feeling was mutual.

The Bolian managed to ignore the tension between his shipmates and keyed the comm again. "Shuttlecraft Alpha, this is Shuttlecraft Bravo, we're locking a tractor beam onto you now." A pause. "Amelia Tanner, Commander Stendos, if you can hear this, please respond."

There was a moment's pause, then a male voice rasped over the speakers. "Help me…"

Sam almost jumped out of her chair.

"Commander Stendos, is that you?" asked Bratxal. "Commander, what's your condition?"

"I…I am in control," said the voice, strained. "I am in control of my…emotions." Sam heard weeping in the background.

"That's him alright," Lenaris muttered, sitting up and uncrossing his arms. "Something's definitely not right though."

Sam nodded silently. She didn't need medical training to know that Vulcan's didn't normally cry.

"Commander Stendos, do you require medical assistance? Doctor Lenaris is on board," Bratxal said into the audio pickup.

"It's…it's too late," moaned the voice. "She's gone! She's gone…"

"Who's gone?" asked Bratxal. "Commander, is Lieutenant Tanner alright? Has the Orion defector escaped?"

"No…not them! Why should they matter? Why should anything matter, anymore?!" The voice trailed off into sobs and moans of agony. "She's gone! She's gone! Her _katra_ is no more! I thought I could find her, if I just had time to meditate…but she's gone!"

"His wife," Doctor Lenaris said.

"I didn't know he had one," said Sam.

Lenaris glared at her.

"Well, honest I didn't!" said Sam, holding up her hands. "He seems like an awfully private fellow."

Lenaris grunted. "True enough. His wife was T'Aria, aboard the _USS Montgomery Scott_. She was in Engineering when a plasma coolant line burst. They say she died instantly, but there wasn't much left of her."

Sam swallowed. She'd remembered receiving the report about the _Montgomery Scott_, with the name Lieutenant-Commander T'Aria prominent in the list of casualties. She'd been on the bridge at the time, making one of those routine Warp Five flights. Commander Stendos had excused himself from the bridge after the news came, but he'd been back before the end of the shift with no noticeable change. Sam had assumed he'd just gone to inform the Captain. She'd never imagined that T'Aria had been his wife. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I never knew…he was always so, controlled."

"Well, he's not controlled now," said Bratxal. The audio pickup on their shuttle was muted, but they could still hear Stendos weeping into the comm on the other shuttle. "He's not even with it enough to tell us what the condition of Lieutenant Tanner or the defector is, and I can't get a good lifesigns scan through the shear's distortion.

"I'd better beam over and take a look at him," said Lenaris. He stood and walked over to a storage locker to pull out a medkit and a tricorder.

"I'll send you over," Sam volunteered.

"You _will not!_" shouted Lenaris. His face was livid. He turned to Bratxal. "You beam me over. I don't want any of this girl's stupid pranks."

Bratxal smirked, but managed to wipe the expression away before Lenaris caught it. He rose and moved to the transporter controls. "Better let Stendos know he's coming," he told Sam. "It can be dangerous to surprise an emotionally vulnerable Vulcan."

Sam moved over to the copilot's seat and keyed the comm. "Commander Stendos, we're beaming Doctor Lenaris over there now. He's going to help you," she said, trying make her voice as calming as possible.

"Help?!" The Vulcan laughed, and somehow the sound was even more unnerving than his crying. "Nothing can help now! Nothing! It's all over…she's gone. Her _katra _is no more. I'll join her, yes, I'll join her in oblivion…"

This was starting to sound really bad to Sam—much worse than a Vulcan simply losing his icy façade of logic to openly grieve. "Stendos, please, don't do anything until—"

"You want to stop me! You all want to stop me!" the Vulcan raged. "I'll show you…I'll show you! I can't be stopped! I'll join her! I'll jo—" The voice cut off abruptly with the whine of a phaser.

Sam's eyes went wide. She keyed the comm in panic. "Shuttlecraft Bravo to Stendos! Stendos, please come in! Please!"

Lenaris clambered up onto the transporter pad. "Beam me over, now!"

"No, wait!" Sam jumped up and snatched a phaser from an arms locker tucked beneath the pilot's console and clipped it to her waist.

"I outrank you, Ensign," said Lenaris. "Beam me over, Bratxal."

The Bolian hesitated.

"You shouldn't go alone," Sam said. "We just heard weapons-fire onboard the other shuttle, and you're unarmed. You should have a security escort."

"You're not security," said the Doctor.

"I took Basic Ground Combat and Survival at the Academy," said Sam, drawing her phaser. "I'm probably the closest thing we've got."

Lenaris sighed and motioned her up onto the transporter pad. "Let's pray your little delay hasn't cost the Commander his life," he said. He looked to Bratxal. "Energize," he said.

The cockpit of Shuttlecraft Bravo vanished in a whirl of blue energy, replaced a moment later by the nearly-identical cockpit of Shuttlecraft Alpha. But here, the main illumination was down and the only light came from flickering consoles. The air was cold and the floor was tilted at a slight angle. The floor was also littered with objects that crackled underfoot. It took Sam a moment to recognize them in the dim light. There were paper streamers and a couple cloth handkerchiefs, stained with spots of blood. There were also clothes, the red shirt of a female command-division duty uniform. Lifting her eyes to the pilot's seat, she saw the silhouette of a naked Amelia Tanner, lying back in her chair, unmoving. The lower half of her face was slick with blood, and something else.

Sam looked away while Lenaris rushed forward to examine her. His medical tricorder buzzed a negative tone, and Sam already suspected what the result would be. "Dead," the Doctor declared.

Sam rubbed her arms to ward off the chill. "Did she freeze to death, or was it that injury to her head?"

"Neither," said the Doctor. "There's some evidence of hypothermia, but it hadn't progressed far enough to be dangerous, and the blood is from a simple broken nose—nothing life-threatening."

Sam looked at him, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. "Why'd she die, then? And why isn't she wearing any clothes?"

"Can't answer the last question, but the cause of death was asphyxiation. She must have passed out like this and tried to vomit while she was unconscious. Then, the fluid blocked her airway and she died." Lenaris shook his head. "I've seen it before. It's not uncommon in cultures that still indulge in over-consumption of alcohol. It isn't a pretty way to go."

"But she wasn't drinking, was she? I mean, there wasn't any alcohol on the ship, and synthehol won't have that affect on humans."

"That's what gets me. There are no foreign substances in her bloodstream, at least, none I can detect with this thing," he said, hefting the tricorder. The tricorder started beeping. "Hold on. I'm picking up a lifesign," he said. "It's faint."

"Stendos?" asked Sam, tightening her grip on her phaser and looking around the cockpit.

"No, the biosigniture's Orion." He moved over to the far side of the cockpit, pushing past a chair and kneeling down.

Sam followed him. She could just make out a vague form lying beneath the console. Then, she felt a headache coming on, starting small but getting rapidly worse. "Ow," she said.

"Yes, definitely Orion female," Lenaris remarked. He pulled a hypospray out of his medkit and injected himself, then Sam. "This should counteract the effects of her pheromones. Thankfully, the coolness of the air seems to be keeping them from circulating much."

Sam's head seemed to clear almost immediately. "Thanks," she said. She moved closer to the shape and saw the body of a green-skinned woman, partially unclothed, lying stretched out under the console. "Naisa D'falas, I presume?"

"We can only assume," said Lenaris. "Whoever she is, she's unconscious, but stable. Her central nervous system is extremely sluggish, though. We need to get her to the _Endurance_ as soon as we can…as soon as we find and treat Commander Stendos, that is."

Sam stood and looked around the room. "There's no sign of him in here."

"And there are no other lifesigns aboard the shuttle," said Lenaris, frowning. "I'll check the aft cabin, see if he's there. Watch the Orion, just in case she regains consciousness."

"But I should go with you, just in case—"

"There's no danger, Ensign, at least none your phaser can protect us from," he snapped. "Everyone on this shuttle except that Orion is dead. Stay here and guard her. That's an order."

Sam looked down. "Yes, sir." She knew that, if there were no other lifesigns, he was probably right, but she didn't want to stay here alone, even though she recognized the necessity of guarding the Orion defector.

Lenaris took one of the side doors back to the aft cabin. As he did, Sam knelt down and grabbed the Orion woman by both arms. She pulled her out of the shadows, dragging her along the floor. As she did, something tumbled out with her, catching the faint light. It was a Klingon datapad. She let go of the Orion and picked it up. It took her a moment to decipher the controls and turn it on. When she did, it displayed the seal of the Klingon Empire, with the words "Classified Battle Plans" written below in Klingonese and English. She supposed someone must have gone to the trouble of translating the information, which made sense if Naisa was planning on turning it over to the Federation. She thumbed the page-advance control and the screen filled with nonsense characters. They were neither Klingonese, nor any other language she recognized. She sighed and put the datapad down. "The plans must still be encrypted," she said.

Just then, Doctor Lenaris returned, his scowl even deeper than usual.

"Stendos?" Sam asked, standing up.

Lenaris shook his head.

"Was it…was it because of me…my delay?" She tried not to let herself cry. Tears stung in her eyes, but did not escape to run down her cheeks.

The Doctor shook his head. "There was a single phaser shot, self-inflicted at point-blank range. By the time we heard it on the other shuttle, he was already dead."

Sam shuddered and holstered her phaser. "What could do this to these people?" she asked. "It looks like Amelia and Naisa threw a big party in here, but she wound up naked, with a broken nose, passed out and drowning in her own vomit."

"I think I can solve the mystery of the broken nose, at least," said Lenaris. "There was some human blood on one of Stendos' knuckles. Maybe the Lieutenant tried to make an advance on him and he fended her off with excessive force."

"But why? Why would she do that? Why would he lose control like that and then kill himself?"

"I don't have any answers for you, Ensign. The best we can do now is beam back to our shuttle with the Orion. With any luck, I'll be able to find the answer by examining her."

Sam nodded and picked up the Klingon datapad. "We'll need this too," she said. "It's the information Naisa had for us. It's still encrypted, but the shuttle's computer should be able to crack it."

"Very well," said Lenaris. He tapped his combadge. "Lenaris to Bratxal."

"Bratxal here," said the Bolian's voice.

"We're done over here. Tanner and Stendos are both dead, exact cause of death to be determined. The Orion defecter is still alive, but unconscious. I want you to beam her to the examination pod in the aft cabin and beam us back. Lock onto the bodies of Lieutenant Tanner and Commander Stendos and beam them to the stasis chambers. Keep the pod and the chambers isolated from the rest of the shuttle's environment and systems, and set the transporter for maximum decontamination," he said. "Whatever caused these people's deaths, we don't want to bring it back with us."

"Acknowledged," said Bratxal.

The air shimmered and dissolved around Sam. The transporter effect lasted longer than normal, continuing while the transporter ran through several decontamination sequences. When it finally faded, Sam was back in the cockpit of Shuttlecraft Beta, standing on the transporter pad beside Doctor Lenaris.

Bratxal turned from his controls to face them, his expression sober. "I've got the bodies, and the Orion female is in a medical isolation chamber in the aft cabin," he reported.

"Good," said Lenaris, stepping off the pad. "I'll start examining her right away, so we can get to the bottom of this."

"Any theories?" asked Bratxal.

Lenaris frowned. "None, but if I didn't know better, I'd say they all experienced extreme alcohol intoxication. Tanner was passed out naked and had obviously been in a fight with Stendos before she died. Stendos gave us his highly-emotional rant when we hailed him, and then shot himself. None of it will make sense until I determine the cause of their behavior change."

Bratxal nodded. While Lenaris retreated to the aft cabin, he moved back to the copilot's seat. "No point in retrieving the shuttle, I suppose."

"I'm afraid not," said Sam. "There's no way I can tractor it free without someone to operate the engines on the other ship, and even if I could, I can't navigate through all these distortions back to the _Endurance_ while towing another shuttle."

"I don't think I could fly back through this stuff," said Bratxal, "and I know Doc Lenaris couldn't."

"My point exactly," said Sam. She placed the Klingon datapad on the interface of one of the portside consoles. "Computer, access Klingon datafiles stored in this device and begin decryption."

The computer chimed. "Access established. Decryption sequence running. Estimated time to completion: 1 hour and 23 minutes."

"We should be back to the _Endurance_ by then," said Bratxal.

"Right," said Sam. She took her seat and tapped the helm controls, turning the shuttle around. "Let's get started then."

"You sure you don't want to talk about it?" asked Bratxal.

"Talk about what?"

"Your experience aboard the other shuttlecraft," he said. "Among my people, we find that talking about and sharing traumatic experiences helps to relieve their affects. I've heard that among human females it's the same."

"Not all human females," said Sam. "Me, I just try to get stuff out of my mind, clear my head. Flying helps."

"Ah," said Bratxal. "Then perhaps a more diverting change of subject." He paused. "I'm quite a fan of your sisters' work. I have a full size holophoto of Carrie, Hannah, Marla, and Kinu in my quarters—autographed, too."

Sam gritted her teeth in resentment and forced herself to smile. Any minute now he was going to call her _the lost Belo sister_ again. "That's really lovely, you know, but right now, I'd rather just concentrate on flying," she told him.

Bratxal shrugged. "As you wish. I was just thinking, yours is the only holophoto I don't have—"

"And the only one you're not likely to get," Sam snapped. "Alright, just drop it already!"

The Bolian fell silent, stunned.

Sam noticed she was sweating and mopped her brow with her uniform sleeve. "Is it hot in here, or is it just me?"

Bratxal checked the environmental controls. "The temperature is normal, but I'll lower it by a degree. It does feel a little warm."

"Thanks," said Sam. "I can't concentrate if I'm too hot, and I'll need to focus on navigation until we clear these distortions." She turned to him. "Sorry for snapping at you."

"It's quite alright, Ensign," he said, but immediately fell silent again. Sam could tell he still felt hurt. She sighed. This was going to be a long flight.


	4. Ambush

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios. Star Trek Online is the creation of Cryptic and Perfect World. All are here used by myself for entertainment purposes only, without permission or intent to profit. Stardates were calculated with the help of the TNG Stardate Calculator available on TrekGuide .com and may be slightly out of sync with those used in the game's lore.

* * *

**Ambush**

USS Endurance_, Captain Nathaniel Ramsey's Log, Stardate 80221.6:_

_Shuttlecraft Bravo has reached the stranded Shuttlecraft Alpha inside the unstable Sigma Hydra System and should begin the return journey quickly. We are unable to communicate with either of the shuttles due to interference caused by the merger of the system's twin stars, but we are tracking them on sensors and all indications are that the rescue mission is proceeding smoothly. I anticipate having the Orion defector Naisa D'falas aboard for questioning in a little over an hour and a half. For the moment, we're maintaining position in the outer limits of the Sigma Hydra System, while conducting long-range scans for other vessels—just in case the Klingons or their allies figure out what we're up to and decide to head this way._

"Status report," said Ramsey, taking the center seat.

"They're moving away from Shuttlecraft Alpha, sir," Lieutenant Joshua Walsh reported from the science station. "They never even locked a tractor beam on it."

"Still no way we can contact them?"

Joshua shook his head. "There's too much interference from the plasma storms. We'll have to wait till they get closer."

"They are idiots," Ensign Pozel sneered.

"Not necessarily," said Joshua, getting a little defensive. "They could have evacuated the other shuttle with their transporters. If it was too badly damaged—"

Ramsey held up a hand to stop him. "Josh, please!"

"Sir?"

"Pozel is a Tellarite," Ramsey said, letting a little smile play across his face. "She's trying to bait you into an argument."

"Oh," said the Lieutenant.

"And what if I was?" the Tellarite snorted. "What's wrong with a good argument now and then?"

Before anyone could answer, the tactical station beeped. Lieutenant Tazark silenced the alarm and frowned, the expression emphasized by the Efrosian's long, pale mustache.

"What is it?" Ramsey asked.

"I'm detecting three Orion corvettes heading our way at maximum warp. They're less than twelve minutes away."

"How did they get so close without us detecting them?" Ramsey asked.

"They must have been using the radiation from the Sigma Hydra star-merger to mask their approach," Joshua suggested.

"Tactical analysis, Tazark," the Captain prompted.

"They're light raiders, sir, suitable for pursuit of unarmed targets," he said. "They're fast, highly maneuverable, but they're not very well armed, and their shields leave something to be desired."

"Do three of them pose a threat to us?"

Tazark shook his head. "All of them put together don't have as many weapons arrays as we have on our saucer section alone."

"They seem to disagree with your tactical analysis, Efrosian," said Pozel. "There can be no mistake: they're headed this way."

"They could be after the shuttles," Joshua suggested. "They're small enough and maneuverable enough to go in after them."

"If that's the case, let's make sure they never get that far," said Ramsey. "Red alert: all hands to battlestations."

The klaxon sounded and the lights dimmed as power was rerouted to combat systems. Crewmen rushed around the bridge, manning stations along the walls. Ramsey sat back in the center seat and observed. The crew moved with admirable speed and efficiency. In less than a minute, the _Endurance_ was ready for action. Weapons and shields awaited his order to power up, and the engines thrummed beneath the deckplates.

"Move us into position between the Orions and the shuttles," Ramsey ordered. "See if you can hail them."

Joshua's hands played over the comm controls. "No response, sir," he said after a moment. "They're dropping out of warp and charging weapons!"

"Raise shields! Prepare to return fire."

Three ships dropped out of warp right in front of the _Endurance_. They were small, with roughly egg-shaped hulls and powerful engines. Decoratively engraved green hull plating did not quite conceal their disruptor banks and torpedo launchers. They wasted no time on evasive maneuvers or fancy approaches. They flew straight at the _Endurance_, beams of green fire lancing out from their disruptor banks. The _Endurance_'s shields flared blue-white from the hits.

"They're targeting our warp core!" said Joshua. The deck trembled as the impact of the shots dissipated throughout the ship.

"Awfully sure of themselves, aren't they?" said Pozel.

"Shields are holding at 83%. Minimal damage to Deck 15," Joshua reported.

Tazark's smile raised the ends of his drooping mustache. "It would seem their confidence has been misplaced."

"Return fire," Ramsey ordered. "Target the lead ship and disable its weapons systems."

Red-orange phaser-fire lanced out from the _Endurance_'s saucer-section. Three beams hammered the lead corvette, hitting the prow of the Orion ship one after another. The corvette's shields flared and flickered out. There was a small explosion in the forward sections and the corvette stopped returning fire, veering off. The remaining corvettes scattered.

"The lead ship's weapons are down," Joshua reported. "The other two are breaking formation." A pause. "They're coming about for another attack."

Ramsey watched on the main viewscreen as one of the corvettes swooped in for another attack run. This time, the approach was more evasive—it seemed the ease with which the _Endurance_ had disabled one of her attackers had taught the other two caution. But that wasn't the only difference. This time, a volley of torpedoes joined the disruptor fire. When they hit, everyone knew it.

The deck pitched violently. Sparks rained from overloading power lines. Ramsey gripped the armrests to steady himself in his seat. Each hit brought renewed shaking.

"Shields down to 64%!" Joshua warned.

"How did raiders get their hands on high-yield torpedoes?" Ramsey demanded.

"No idea, sir, but they can't have very many of them aboard," Tazark.

The deck shook again. "They may not need many," said Joshua. "They're still targeting our warp core. Shields are down to 52%!"

"Reroute power to aft shields!" Ramsey ordered. "Pozel, see if you can get us on the tail of one of those corvettes before they make another pass. Tazark, when she does, finish it. It's time we stopped pulling our punches."

The _Endurance_ whipped around, pursuing one of her attackers. Phaser beams lanced out at it, but the corvette avoided them, twisting this way and that. A pair of quantum torpedoes raced out from the _Endurance_, but the corvette evaded them even more easily. Meanwhile, the other corvette came about and made another attack on the _Endurance_'s aft quarter, diving on her. It dodged the few phaser shots directed at it easily.

"They're too fast!" Tazart said. "Targeting sensors can't get a lock."

"Try leading them with your fire," Ramsey said.

The Efrosian shook his head. "I'm already leading the target by half a dozen kilometers, but they're so nimble that I can't accurately predict where they will be."

"Then lead them another way," said Ramsey. "Convince them to be where you want them by scattering phaser fire in directions you don't want them to take. If they dodge those—"

"They fly straight into a trap," the Efrosian finished, grinning.

"Exactly."

The deck pitched and an unoccupied console in the back of the bridge exploded in a shower of sparks. "Better hurry," Joshua warned. "Aft shields are down to 39% percent, and dorsal shields are weakening!"

"Stay on them, Pozel," Ramsey ordered. "Tazart, prepare to fire a volley of torpedoes on my mark!"

The _Endurance_ was slower and less maneuverable than her quarry, but a quick volley of heavy phaser fire convinced the corvette to stay in the larger ship's forward arc. More phaser shots followed, all of them misses. The corvette dodged them, twisting this way and that in front of the _Endurance_, till, for a moment, she flew perfectly straight just in front of the starship's bow.

"Torpedoes locked!" Tazart cried triumphantly.

"Fire!"

Three quantum torpedos raced out and hit the Orion ship's stern. The first detonated against its shields in a flash of white fire. The second penetrated halfway through the enemy ship before detonating. The third intersected the fireball and expanded it, blasting the corvette into shards of scorched green metal moving apart at full impulse.

"Got him!" Tazart said, raising a fist.

"There's still one more," said Ramsey. "Bring us about and target the remaining corvette!"

The last corvette dodged the _Endurance_'s fire, but not as single-mindedly as its predecessor had. It continued to press the attack, alternately diving on the _Endurance_ and sweeping away for another pass. It made sure to stay out of the larger ship's forward firing arc, though.

"He's determined to take us down," said Ramsey.

"I'd say he's making some progress," Joshua said. "Dorsal shields are down to 38% and aft shields are failing!"

"Reroute emergency power," Ramsey ordered. "We can't let him get a clean shot at our warp core! Pozel, try to interpose our saucer-section!"

"I'm trying! He's too fast!" said the Tellarite.

"I think I can get him for you, sir," said Tazart. "He's not as evasive when he makes his runs."

"Do it," said Ramsey.

Phaser fire lanced out at the corvette as it made its next pass. Two beams scored glancing blows. The damage was enough to cause the corvette's shields to fall. A moment later, as the Orion ship turned, a third beam struck out from _Endurance_ and clipped the corvette's engine ports. Fire and smoke trailed from the corvette as it wallowed away. A minute later, an explosion blasted its hull apart.

"Lucky shot," Pozel remarked.

"I don't think that was us," said Joshua. "We only disabled their engines. That explosion originated inside the ship—probably some sort of self-destruct device."

"Why would they kill themselves like that?" asked Pozel. For once, the Tellarite did not sound like she was trying to be argumentative. She seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Many unsuccessful Orion Syndicate missions end in suicide," Ramsey explained. "In the beginning, it was just a way to keep information from falling into the wrong hands—our hands—but over time it's developed into a way to keep the ranks free of failures."

"And what was it here, I wonder," said Tazark.

The science station screamed a warning. Joshua looked down and his eyes widened. "Sir! The first corvette—the one whose weapons we disabled—it's come about. It's on a collision course!"

"Evasive maneuvers!" shouted Ramsey. "Tazart, try to disable their engines—"

"There's no time!" cried Joshua. "Impact in five seconds!"

"All hands brace for impact!" shouted the Captain.

The unarmed corvette came hurtling at the _Endurance_'s aft quarter, a missile with an Orion captain and crew. The _Endurance_ banked to starboard, trying to get out of the way, but it only succeeded in interposing its dorsal shield before the enemy vessel hit. For a moment, the shields lit up like sheet lightning. Everyone aboard the Orion ship was killed instantly as the impact fragmented the corvette's hull, transforming it into a mass of fire and metal. But then the shields failed, and every piece of the destroyed ship was still traveling in the same direction, at nearly same speed. The mass of debris swept forward, grazing the port nacelle and meeting the saucer-section at the port impulse engine. The engine vanished in a fireball and the debris swept on, carried by their collective momentum across the upper decks of the ship. Fireballs raced down the corridors. A maelstrom of shrapnel cut through bulkheads, equipment, and personnel. On the bridge, the impact was deafening. The deck bucked sideways, throwing everyone to the left. Crewmen working at consoles along the portside wall of the bridge were thrown up against their workstations before the inertial dampers kicked in. Then, before they could fall back into their seats, the three consoles along that wall exploded, throwing shards of metal and glass halfway across the room.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the impact was over. Captain Ramsey grunted, pushing himself up from being doubled over the left arm of his chair. He looked around him. The smoke hung in the air and a burst EPS conduit was pouring gray gas into the room, obscuring the viewscreen. He could see Ensign Pozel in that direction, pushing herself back to her feet and fumbling with the controls to reroute the EPS system around the leak. He turned to see Tazark scrambling back up to his right. On his left, a couple young non-coms rushed over to tend to the three downed crewmen, but even through the smoke Ramsey could tell they were already dead. Twisted around to his left and saw Joshua pulling himself to his feet using the edge of his console for support. His left hand was clasped against his side and he was obviously in pain.

Ramsey rose. "Are you alright, Lieutenant?" he asked.

Joshua nodded but stumbled as he did so. His hand slipped, revealing several red stains spreading slowly across his uniform shirt. Ramsey turned to one of the young non-coms. "Petty Officer Styles, get the Lieutenant down to Sickbay immediately!" he ordered. He looked around the bridge, searching for someone available wearing science blues. "Chief Avrel, take his station."

"Aye, sir," said the Trill woman.

Captain Ramsey turned and sat heavily in the center seat. "Damage report!"

"Hull breaches across multiple sections of decks 7, 8, and 9," reported Jerica Avrel. "Severe damage reported in all adjacent sections. Casualty reports are still coming in from all decks."

"Shields are offline and the portside weapons grid isn't responding," said Tazark.

Pozel finally finished shutting down the leak. As the gas cleared from the front of the bridge, she turned to her console. "I only have thrusters available here," she reported. "The Number 1 impulse engine has been destroyed. It'll take some time to reconfigure the helm to fly at impulse with only one engine, and even then, the results will be…limited."

"Warp drive?" Ramsey asked.

Pozel shook her head, bushy hair swaying. "It looks like we're venting some warp plasma from our port nacelle. Until that gets fixed, we're not going anywhere in a hurry."

Ramsey nodded soberly. That could be a big problem if those three Orion corvettes weren't the only ones to decide to come after them. "Run continuous long-range scans, Avrel," Ramsey said. "I want to know the moment there's another ship heading our way."

"Aye, sir," she said, setting to work at the science station.

In the meantime, Ramsey tapped his combadge. "Bridge to Engineering," he said. "Sorna, how bad is the damage down there?"

"Plenty," the Saurian Chief Engineer hissed. "If it wasssn't bad enough having to deal with the damage from torpedo hitsss, now it looksss like we've got piecssesss of that Orion ssship lodged in our port nacsselle."

"How long do you think it'll take to bring warp drive back online?"

"Difficult to sssay without inssspecting the damage from the outssside," said Sorna. "If you're quite done getting shhot at, perhapsss I can take one of the shhuttlepodsss out to have a look."

Just then, a wavering movement on the viewscreen caught Ramsey's eyes. He stared as a massive Klingon ship decloaked ahead of the _Endurance_. He recognized it as a _Negh'Var_-Class battleship, easily a match for the _Sovereign_-class _Endurance_—when the _Endurance_ was in fighting shape, that is.

"Hold that thought," Ramsey told Sorna, trying to sound calm. "We've just got some more company here. You might want to work on finding a way to get the shields back online—five minutes ago if at all possible." He closed the channel and turned to Chief Avrel, who was staring at the main viewscreen in shock. "Avrel, what's their status," he said, snapping her out of it.

Avrel shook her head and looked down at her sensors. "They—Their shields are up and their weapons are charged, but they have no target lock on us…yet." Her console chimed. "They're scanning us!"

"I believe the human expression is: _for what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful_," said Pozel.

"Slightly different context," said Ramsey.

The science console chimed again. "We're…we're being hailed, sir," said Avrel.

Ramsey mopped the sweat from his forehead. "By all means, onscreen!"

The image of the hulking Klingon warship was replaced with a view of its Klingon captain on its dimly-lit bridge. "This is Captain Ratak of the _IKS Azetbur_. Identify yourself and state your purpose for being this close to Klingon space!"

"This is Captain Nathaniel Ramsey of the _USS Endurance_, and I could well ask you _your_ purpose for being so close to Federation space."

Ratak spat. "Enough of this! I will not play games with you. We both know why we are here, and why your ship was just attacked. We're looking for the Orion named Naisa D'falas. We've scanned your vessel, and she's not aboard. Where is she?"

Ramsey shrugged his shoulders and sat back in his chair. "The name doesn't ring a bell," he said. "What's your interest in this…Naisa person?"

"You lie, human! I should destroy your ship right now!"

"And risk never finding out about your friend? I don't think so," said Ramsey, trying to feign confidence.

Ratak glared at him for a moment, then grunted. "You are fortunate that my quarrel is with her and not with you, human. My sensors show that two of your shuttles are missing, and that a Federation shuttle is currently making its way out of the system to meet you. I think _this_ is Naisa."

Ramsey shifted in his chair. "You make an awful lot of assumptions, Captain."

"But I am right, am I not?" He smiled when the only answer Ramsey gave was silence. "The look on your face is as good as a confession, human. Limp home with your starship. We will meet again some other day, when you and your crew are prepared for honorable combat."

With that, the channel was cut. On the viewscreen, Ramsey watched at the warship cloaked, banking away as it faded from view.

"Track it," he said, turning quickly to the science station. "Scan for any of the tell-tales: subspace distortions, gravimetric field fluxuations, residual particles…anything."

Chief Avrel bent over her station for a minute. "I think I have something, sir," she said at last. "I'm detecting an ion trail. It doesn't match any of the corvettes' trajectories and it certainly isn't ours, but it looks like a good match for the _Azetbur_." She looked up. "It isn't enough for targeting, but it should give us a good idea of where the warship is headed."

"Good work," said Ramsey. "Where are they now?"

Avrel ran another scan. "It looks like they're headed into the Sigma Hydra system, toward an intercept with Shuttlecraft Bravo."

"It looks like there are a couple corridors through the gravimetric distortions that a starship that size could use to get closer if they wanted to," said Pozel. "It would be slow going, but it would mean they'd intercept Shuttlecraft Bravo a good half-hour before we did."

Ramsey frowned. He had five officers and a valuable Orion defector aboard that shuttle. He couldn't allow the Klingons to intercept it. "Can we follow them in?" he asked.

"Sure, but with thrusters only, we'll never catch up."

"And when we do catch up, we'll need to be ready for a fight," said Tazark. "I doubt that Klingon ship is going to move along quietly because we asked it to."

Ramsey nodded soberly. "Pozel, I want you to work on reconfiguring navigation to work on our remaining impulse engine. As soon as you get it up, set a pursuit course for the _Azetbur_. Tazark, coordinate your efforts with Sorna. Your first priority will be to restore shields, then as many weapons systems as possible. We're going in after our shuttle, and we're _not_ going to let the Klingons get it first!"

* * *

Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed the space battle! Remember, there's no speed like ramming speed! :)

The Orion corvettes are a Klingon-faction MOB from STO, and I've tried to be as faithful in my description as possible. Of course, in the game, they're the space-faring equivalent of level 1 slime MOBs from other RPGs, so the chances that three of them could do anything to a _Sovereign_-class (level 40+ ship) are negligible. But that just wouldn't be much fun, so I gave the ships a slightly more even playing field. High-yield torpedoes (another in-game reality) was one way to do that! The _IKS Azetbur_ is a name for a _Negh'Var_-class ship in STO, according to the wiki. It's also a reference to the daughter of the Chancellor in Star Trek VI.

Pozel's line when the _Negh'Var_ warship decloaks is a shout-out to the BBC production of Horatio Hornblower. The quote is a traditional blessing said over a meal, but in the episode "Loyalty," a seaman uses the quote ironically when the ship is expecting to "receive" an enemy broadside that will blow them all away. Pozel's use of it is similarly ironic, and—hopefully—amusing.

I have a question about the "gray gas" that leaks from an EPS conduit in this chapter: does anyone know what the canon name for that is? It's about as standard a battle-damage special effect as camera-shaking and showers of sparks, especially in Voyager, DS9, and the Next Generation's movies. There, practically every time serious damage is done to the ship, a black corrugated hose will break loose from the ceiling and spray this stuff all over the room like it's attached to a fog machine (because, in real life, that's probably exactly what's happening). I can't figure out what the gas is supposed to be called, though. "Plasma" is my best guess as the most likely thing to have circulating in hoses on a starship ("plasma conduits" are frequently mentioned, and apparently they can leak, break, rupture, or explode), but I'm not sure. Plasma can also burn things and people, and yet on-screen the characters don't seem to react to this gas as if it's dangerously hot-I even remember an episode (Voyager: "Flashback") in which Sulu steps through a wall of such gas deliberately, with apparently without harm. I suppose it could be a low-temperature plasma, or something...Anyway, if you have any idea what it might be, let me know in a review or a PM. Thanks!


	5. Shuttle to Insanity

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios. Star Trek Online is the creation of Cryptic and Perfect World. All are here used by myself for entertainment purposes only, without permission or intent to profit. Stardates were calculated with the help of the TNG Stardate Calculator available on TrekGuide .com and may be slightly out of sync with those used in the game's lore.

* * *

**Shuttle to Insanity**

USS Endurance_, Sam Hayashi's Log, Stardate 80221.7:_

_We've made a slight detour on our way back to _Endurance_ aboard Shuttlecraft Bravo. It adds about a half hour, give or take, to the trip, but it leads us past exactly 99 graviton shears for [laughter] recreational purposes. I guess somebody will probably complain about the waste of fuel and time, but we're not in any hurry and the little diversion gives me something to keep my mind off of what happened to the crew of the other shuttlecraft. I have to say, it's worked a _lot_ better than expected! The atmosphere here in the cockpit is very relaxed now [more laughter]. The only downside is the _actual_ atmosphere. When we get back, somebody better take a look at the environmental controls on this thing, because it's just way too hot in here._

Shuttlecraft Beta veered around a gravimetric distortion before resuming its course out of the Sigma Hydra System. Aboard the shuttle, the cockpit was filled with the sounds of off-key singing:

"_Twenty-nine graviton shears on this route,  
Twenty-nine graviton shears!  
We dive down, maneuver around:  
Twenty-eight graviton shears on this route!"_

Sam sat back in the pilot's seat and laughed, while Bratxal prepared to launch into another verse. "Twenty-eight graviton shears on this route—"

Sam tapped his shoulder repeatedly. "No, no!" she said. "You know the rules: no singing till we actually reach the next shear."

"Aw, but it's fun!"

"Yeah, but otherwise you'll run out of song before we reach the _Endurance_," she pointed out. "Then that new route you mapped out will be for nothing."

Bratxal chuckled and smiled. "Okay, you win," he said.

About twenty minutes into their return trip, he'd come up with this flight plan, and the idea of making a game of it based on some old human folk song used to pass the time. Although flying a route that passed exactly 99 graviton shears had added a good half-hour to the length of the trip (fifteen minutes initially, but recalculating the route through thicker and thicker areas of gravimetric distortions in order to keep up the count despite the approach of the _Endurance_ had doubled that time), the game definitely made the time seem to go faster. Besides, it wasn't like they were in a hurry or anything.

Sam wiped her hands on her uniform jacket, which was already unfastened, revealing the gray tank-top that served as her undershirt. "What's the temperature in here, computer?"

"Cabin temperature has been set at eleven degrees Celsius," the computer reported in her ever-dull monotone.

"Well, lower it by another degree," Sam said, removing her uniform jacket entirely and tossing it to the floor. "It's way too hot in here."

"_You're_ way too hot in here," said Bratxal winking at her.

Sam giggled. "Thanks, you're cute…you know, if you like blue."

Bratxal leaned forward. "Do you?"

Sam ran a hand through her dark hair. "Do I what, Ensign?" she asked, smiling.

"Do you like blue?"

She pursed her lips, only half-pretending to mull the question over. She knew she wasn't interested in Bratxal that way…and even if she was, Bolian and human biochemistry simply didn't mix. But at the same time, she _did_ enjoy the attention. She rocked her head back and forth, uncertain. "Blue's okay," she said at last. "But my favorite color is red."

"Well, let's just see if I can't change your mind," he said, leaning close and puckering up.

Sam backed away from the blue lips and interposed a hand, giggling. "Hey, now, it's not _that_ hot in here."

"Let me turn it up a degree, then," he said, moving out of his seat toward her.

Sam scooted back, but found herself at the edge of her seat, with nowhere to go. She felt suddenly terrified. She didn't want this to happen. She'd just been having a bit of fun. Now, she felt trapped, backed into a corner. Instinct took over and she drew her phaser. The weapon hummed as it powered up.

Bratxal stopped, staring at the weapon. "Sam?"

"Just…just stop, alright!" she said, brandishing the phaser at him.

The Bolian held up his hands and took a wavering step backward. "Okay," he said. "I'm stopped, see?"

Sam had a wild urge to make _sure_ his advances were stopped. Her thumb twitched over the firing stud. _I'll only stun him_, she told herself. _Besides, I can have all kinds of harmless fun with an unconscious Bolian, like fastening his boots together or tying his hands into his uniform sleeves_. She licked her lips, then glanced down at the phaser for one last check before she fired. She nearly dropped the phaser from shock. It was set to Level 10. If she'd shot without looking, she would have killed Bratxal right then and there. She trembled and lowered the phaser. "I'm sorry," she said, holstering it. "I don't know what came over me."

Before Bratxal could make a reply, his console chimed. "Proximity alert," said the computer. "Klingon vessel detected bearing 004 mark 17, range 400 kilometers."

Sam turned quickly to the helm controls. Through the cockpit window, she could see a patch of the starfield above the shuttle wavering as a shape became visible. In a moment, the hulking, predatory shape of a _Negh'Var_-class battleship was hanging above them. "Bratxal…," Sam began fearfully.

The Bolian fell into his seat and his hands started rushing over the sensor controls. "They—they're charging weapons. Disruptors locked on us!"

"Big surprise," said Sam. She brought the shuttle's engines up to maximum power and kicked the shuttle into a corkscrew dive. The inertial dampers whined and Bratxal had to hold on to the back of his chair to avoid being thrown out of it. Sam saw a disruptor beam pass them and knew she'd made the right choice. Then, of course, she remembered she hadn't raised the shields—not that they would offer much protection against the kind of firepower they were facing. Still, some was better than none. She keyed in their activation sequence with one hand while sending the shuttle into a barrel roll with the other.

"I need to know where all the gravimetric distortions in the area are, now!" Sam said.

"Well, you don't have to be so rude about it!"

Sam cast a glance at the Bolian. "Bratxal, please!"

His scowl softened. "Okay, but you owe me a pin-up shot," he said.

"I _what_?"

"A pin-up shot, to complete my collection," said Bratxal, smiling as he turned to the sensor controls.

Sam was about to refuse him when the computer interrupted. "Warning, incoming ordinance detected."

Sam turned back to the helm and sent the shuttle hurtling through a textbook evasive pattern delta. Two torpedoes raced past the shuttle on either side, missing it by meters.

Meanwhile, Bratxal studied the sensor readout. "There's a large gravitimetric eddy just to port of the Klingon battleship, restricting its movement."

"Not good enough," said Sam. "They don't have to maneuver that much to kill us. See if you can find me a shear with its gravitational gradient running away from the Klingons, off their port bow, if possible."

Bratxal keyed a quick series of commands into his console. "I've got one, bearing 217 mark 24, range 100 kilometers."

"Perfect," said Sam, whipping the shuttle around and heading straight for the graviton shear.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking us into the shear," she said.

"Are you insane?! That distortion is over three times the strength of the one that stopped Shuttlecraft Alpha. The force differential is enough to breach the hull!"

"If I hit it at exactly the right angle, with my velocity in line with the gravitational gradient, I can use it to boost our speed. It'll throw us clear before it does any serious damage."

The Bolian gave her a concerned look. "You really don't understand the physics behind these things, do you?"

Before Sam could answer, a disruptor beam grazed the shuttle. Sparks exploded from an overhead line and the cockpit shook. "Warning, shields down to 34%," said the computer.

"Look, we can talk about gravimetric physics after we get out of here alive," said Sam, lining up the shuttle for its approach and keying its impulse engine up to maximum power.

"_If_ we get out of here alive," said Bratxal. He stabbed a finger at her console. "You need to adjust your heading by point-oh-one six or—"

Sam slapped his hand away from the controls. "There's no time!"

An instant later, shuttle hit the shear with a jolt. Bratxal was thrown backward out of his chair as the shuttle suddenly accelerated. Sparks flew from an unoccupied console and the computer blared, "Warning, hull stress is exceeding tolerance."

Then, they were free. Sam slalomed past several distortions and waited until the shuttle was well outside the Klingon ship's weapons range. Then, she applied full reverse thrust to slow the shuttle down and hide it in the wake of a graviton eddy. "With any luck, that'll keep us off their sensors, and keep us safe from the next plasma storm, when it comes," she said. "What do you think, Bratxal?" She turned, surprised to find he hadn't resumed his seat yet. "Bratxal?"

She looked around and found him lying on the floor of the cabin, face-down with a dark blotch of blue blood spreading beneath his head. Sam gasped. She tapped her communicator. "Hayashi to Lenaris! Medical emergency!"

* * *

Author's Note: I am proud to say that the version of "99 Bottles of Beer" the characters sing at the start of this chapter is 100% original. Unfortunately, so is the "science" of graviton shears presented here, so hopefully it wasn't too nonsensical.

At this point, the astute reader may have already guessed what's going on here, since the disease that killed the crew of the first shuttlecraft is canon, appearing twice in much the same form as it does here. For those of you who haven't figured it out yet, the reveal will be in a couple chapters (once we find out about Bratxal), so you won't have to wait too long!

Apologies for the cliffhanger ending! I will try to get the next two chapters out as soon as I can so that you can find out what happens to Bratxal.


	6. Intercept with Azetbur

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios. Star Trek Online is the creation of Cryptic and Perfect World. All are here used by myself for entertainment purposes only, without permission or intent to profit. Stardates were calculated with the help of the TNG Stardate Calculator available on TrekGuide .com and may be slightly out of sync with those used in the game's lore.

* * *

**Intercept with _Azetbur_**

USS Endurance_, Captain Nathaniel Ramsey's Log, Stardate 80221.7:_

_It's been over a little over an hour since our battle with the three Orion corvettes and our first encounter with the _IKS Azetbur_. Our shields are back up and Ensign Pozel has managed to restore partial impulse power. We're pursuing the Klingon ship into the Sigma Hydra System. While my hope is to intercept it before it can reach and destroy our shuttle, things don't look good. We've been unable to raise Shuttlecraft Bravo due to increasing levels of ionic interference ahead of an approaching plasma storm, but Ensign Hayashi seems to have realized the danger and is attempting to evade the Klingons by sticking to denser patches of gravimetric distortions. The problem is that with the _Azetbur_ cloaked, neither of us can be truly sure of her position. All we know is that, from the look of things, she's closing on our shuttle faster than we can close on her._

The _USS Endurance_ slipped between two gravimetric distortions, turning at low impulse. Ensign Pozel huffed, plotting yet another course change at her console. "I swear this is the slowest chase in Starfleet history," the Telarite grumbled.

"As long as it _is_ a chase," said Ramsey. "Ensign Hayashi has bought us some time by diverting through denser concentrations of gravimetric distortion. I'd hate to think we wasted it."

"Oh, it's a chase, alright," said Pozel. "We may be limited to half-impulse, but if Chief Avrel's tracking figures are any good, we're gaining on them. They're having to stop to plot routes and backtrack when they come to dead-ends, and all we have to do is follow the ion trail they've laid out for us."

"About that, sir, we may have a problem," Avrel began nervously. "I've lost the ion trail."

Ramsey turned in his chair. "Lost it?"

Avrel nodded. "I'm sorry, sir. The ionization of the surrounding space is picking up ahead of the plasma storm front. I can't differentiate the Klingon's ion trail from the background noise."

"Last known position?" Ramsey prompted.

"Bearing 056 mark 12, range 900,000 kilometers."

"I have it on navigational," said Pozel.

"Take us there," said Ramsey. "How far are they from Shuttlecraft Bravo?"

"Too close for comfort," Tazark said simply.

"Can we warn them?"

The Efrosian shook his head. "The approaching plasma storm is interfering with communications. We'll have to wait until it passes."

"By that time, it may be too late," said Ramsey.

An alert sounded at Avrel's console. "Captain, the Klingon ship is decloaking now, 500 thousand kilometers off our starboard bow!"

"They're within 400 kilometers of the shuttle," said Tazark. "They're charging weapons!"

"Options!" Ramsey demanded.

"We have no line of sight on the enemy ship through the distortions. Even if we did, we're well out of weapons range."

"I'll get us closer as quickly as I can, but it'll take a few minutes," said Pozel.

Ramsey fell back into his chair. There was nothing the _Endurance_ could do. "Display the battle on the main screen," he said. If he couldn't help the away team on that shuttle, the least he could do is stand witness to their final moments.

The viewscreen changed to show the Klingon warship's aft side as the Federation shuttle spun into a corkscrew dive in front of it. For a moment, Ramsey was afraid he'd already missed the fatal blow and the smaller craft was spinning out of control, but then he noticed there was no visible damage to the shuttle. When the _IKS Azetbur_ fired its disruptors at the shuttle and missed, it removed all doubt. The shuttle continued to twist and roll evasively, torpedoes and disruptor beams missing it by meters. Then the shuttle whipped around to the left, ignoring a grazing hit, and suddenly put on a massive burst of speed, vanishing from view.

Ramsey sat up and turned to the science station. "Can you track them?"

Avrel shook her head. "They're using some of the gravimetric distortions for cover," she said. "Combined with the ionic interference, it's preventing our sensors from picking up their new location."

"It should be doing the same to the Klingon's sensors as well," said Tazark. "Miss Hayashi is a truly remarkable pilot to have escaped so easily."

Pozel huffed, putting the starship through another agonizing maneuver. "She should try her hand at _this_ for a while."

"What's our range to the _Azetbur_?" asked Ramsey.

"300 thousand kilometers," Tazark reported. "Almost in range. Phasers will be limited with so many graviton shears around to distort them, but I've recalibrated the guidance systems of our torpedoes to enable them to maneuver around the shears."

"Good," said Ramsey. "Let's make sure they don't get a second chance at our shuttle."

Tazark smiled, lifting the ends of his mustache. "Aye, aye, sir!"

But before the Efrosian could fire, the _Azetbur_ began moving forward, its image wavering as it did. A moment later, it had completely disappeared. Ramsey swore under his breath. "Avrel, is there still no way you can track them through their cloak?"

"I'm afraid not, sir," she answered.

Ramsey frowned at the viewscreen. "There's got to be a way to find them."

"We don't have much time to try, sir," said Tazark. "The plasma storm front will be here in under two minutes. Our shields aren't strong enough to hold it all out. We'll have to protect the ship by hiding it behind a large graviton eddy."

"There may not be time for even that," warned Pozel. "Maneuvering through this stuff is a slow, endless nightmare."

"Polarize the outer hull and evacuate all sections near the hull breaches from the Orion attack. That should keep us safe from the plasma storm after our shields absorb the worst of it," said Ramsey. Then, he looked up suddenly. "Of course, that's it!"

"Sir?"

"The _Negh'Var_-class can't raise its shields while cloaked. It'll be even more vulnerable to the plasma storm than we are, which means—"

"Which means they'll want a graviton eddy to hide behind, too," finished the Efrosian, a smile beginning to spread beneath his mustache.

Ramsey turned to the science station. "Averil, are there any graviton eddies nearby large enough to hide an entire _Negh'Var_-class behind?"

The Trill woman executed a quick scan at her console. "Only one, sir, just to port of their last known position."

"Then that's where they've gone to ride out the storm," said Ramsey. "Tazark, target that position with a full spread of quantum torpedoes."

"I already have, sir," said the Efrosian, grinning.

Ramsey returned his smile. "Fire!"

A half dozen brilliant-white torpedoes flashed from the _Endurance_'s launchers. They sped through space, weaving under and over gravimetric distortions. When they reached the large gravimetric eddy, they fanned out, covering as much space as possible. Three of the torpedoes exploded suddenly, and a moment later, the Klingon ship wavered into view, engines badly damaged and the force of the explosions pushing it nose-first into the graviton eddy.

"We've got them now!" said Tazark.

An alert sounded at the science station. "Sir, ten seconds to plasma storm front impact!"

"Pozel, bring the ship about, bow into the storm. Full power to forward shields!" Ramsey gripped the arms of his chair as the swirling red clouds of the plasma storm filled the forward viewscreen. "All hands, brace for impact!"

The storm broke over the _Endurance_. The deck trembled and sparks flew from an overhead power line. Then, the shields failed. The shaking became more intense as sparks cascaded all around the bridge crew, but after a moment or two longer, it was over. Ramsey looked around the bridge and saw no sign of injury among his people. "Report!" he ordered.

"Minor damage to external systems," said Pozel. "Several subsystems in the sections affected by the hull breaches were burned, but nothing serious."

"Time to finish our fight with the _Azetbur_," said Tazark.

"Sir, I think the fight's already finished," said Avrel. "The Klingon ship's still uncloaked, so they may have suffered damage to that system. In addition, their engines have been disabled and they're caught in the gravimetric eddy. It won't harm their ship, but they won't be able to move or maneuver until they can pull themselves free."

"By the looks of that eddy, it'll take them a burst from their engines at full impulse to break free—and that's not likely to happen any time soon," said Pozel, smiling.

Ramsey turned to Tazark. "Avrel is right," he said. "The _Azetbur_ is incapacitated, and we have more important things to do right now than fire on trapped Klingon ships." He turned back to science. "Avrel, can you locate the shuttle now that the storm's passed?"

The Trill typed a sequence into her console. "I think so, sir…Yes, there they are! They're hiding behind a graviton eddy bearing 324 mark 09, not far from the ninth planet."

"There's no way to get there from here, at least, not without passing directly in front of the _Azetbur_'s disruptor banks, and I assume we want to avoid giving them a chance to get back at us for those torpedoes, our shields being down and all," said Pozel. "We'll have to backtrack a bit, but once we're over there it should be much smoother sailing. The planet's gravitational field has evened out most of the local distortions."

"Estimated time to intercept?"

"If Shuttlecraft Bravo stays where it is, fifteen minutes," said Pozel. "Less if they come to us."

"Make it so," said Ramsey. He turned to Tazark. "See if you can't raise Shuttlecraft Bravo and let them know we're on our way."

"Aye, sir." Tazark typed in a command to his console and there was silence for a minute as he waited and Pozel laboriously got the ship turned around. He typed in another command and his console beeped an alert. "Sir, we're being hailed."

"By the shuttle?"

"No, sir, that's what I was just checking. According to my scans, they suffered some hull damaged and their communications systems are probably offline as a result," said Tazark. His console beeped again. "We're being hailed by the Klingons, sir."

Ramsey blinked, startled. "The Klingons?" He turned to the viewscreen. "On screen."

The starfield disappeared, replaced once more with the dimly lit bridge of the _Azetbur_, only this time Ramsey could see small fires in the background, with Klingon crewmembers struggling to put them out. The Klingon captain sat in the foreground, glaring at him.

"Captain Ratak!" said Ramsey, forcing a smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Spare me your foolish words, human," Ratak growled. "You're going to try to retrieve your shuttle now, aren't you? Our scans detected an Orion lifesign aboard. It is Naisa D'falas!"

Ramsey shrugged. "I can't say, Captain, but I'll let you know as soon as we have the shuttle back on board."

Ratak spat. "You and your crew are in grave danger, Captain! If you retrieve that shuttle, I promise you, you will all die!"

Ramsey's eyes narrowed. "Is that supposed to be a threat, Klingon?"

"It is a statement of fact, human."

"Really?" Ramsey folded his arms. "Because the last time I checked, your ship was stuck in a graviton eddy so powerful it wouldn't be able to break free for, what, hours? Days? I assure you, we'll be long gone by then."

"_bIjatlh 'e' yImev!_" Shouted the Klingon Captain. He pointed a finger at Ramsey. "Listen well, you _petaQ_! That Orion traitor has deceived you: she bears no information that can help you in your war. Instead, she bears a plague of her own making—a disease that, if unleashed could wipe out all humanoid life in the quadrant!"

Ramsey was silent for a moment. He met Ratak's gaze. "What proof do you have of this?"

Ratak wave his hand, disgusted. "Proof? Always you will want proof! Is not the word of one warrior to another enough?"

"When spies, defectors, and counter-intelligence is involved?" Ramsey shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

Ratak growled, but at last relented. "Very well, the only proof I can offer you is the attack your ship endured earlier today. Three Orion corvettes would not ordinarily be so confident as to attack a battle-ready _Sovereign_-class assault cruiser, such as your own—nor would they be as willing to give their lives in a futile effort to destroy your magnificent ship as they were. Do you not agree, Captain?"

Ramsey shrugged. "I admit, I found their tactics…unusual, but I don't see what this has to do with your allegations."

"Just this," said Ratak, raising a finger. "The Orions did not scan your vessel before they attacked, as we did. They assumed your ship had been compromised by Naisa's plague, and that you would be unable to adequately defend yourselves—and that you must be destroyed at all costs."

"And what would our being infected with this supposed disease have to do with any of that?"

"The disease causes poor judgment, loss of inhibitions, and decreased reflexes among all known humanoids," said Ratak. "I'm told the test subjects acted like fools who'd guzzled an entire barrel of bloodwine—before they died, that is. Tell me honestly, Captain, if your crew was so impaired, do you think the outcome of the battle would have been different?"

Ramsey clenched his jaw. He hated to admit it, but the Klingon was right—supposing any of this were true. "We would have lost," he said definitely. "The corvettes might even have destroyed us with their opening volley."

"And since the disease is extremely contagious and lethal to humanoids within a matter of hours, you can see why it must be stopped at all costs?"

Ramsey nodded slowly.

"I am glad to see you are not a complete _petaQ_," said Ratak, sitting back in his chair. "Naisa is aboard that shuttle—there can be no doubt about it—and if she is aboard, then the shuttle must be destroyed, before she can spread her plague further. Since we have been disabled, you must do this!"

Ramsey shook his head. "I'm not willing to give the order to fire on my own people on the word of an enemy captain."

"They are already dead, Captain," said Ratak. "I mourn your loss, truly. You have fought with honor this day, and your people aboard that shuttle deserve a better end than to die at the machinations of a traitor like Naisa…but if you take them aboard your ship, you and everyone on it will die—and if Starfleet finds your ship adrift…well, where will it end? Soon the entire quadrant will be infected and billions upon billions will fall to Naisa's treachery."

"Maybe you're right, Klingon," said Ramsey, his face hardening. "But in Starfleet, we do things different. We don't leave our own people behind, much less condemn them to death without even trying first. We're going after the shuttle."

"You cannot save them!" Ratak warned, rising from his chair. "If you try, the blood of a thousand worlds will be on your hands!"

"We'll see about that," said Ramsey. He pressed a button on the arm of the center seat and closed the channel.

"Do you think he's telling the truth, sir?" Avrel asked, concerned.

"There's only one way to find out," said Ramsey. "Pozel, keep us on course to intercept Shuttlecraft Bravo. Tazark, inform sickbay to get a team of their people into environmental suits to beam over to the shuttle and assess the situation before they land. I want a security detail ready as well, just in case Ratak was right about the drunken behavior and things get nasty."

"Yes, sir," said Tazark. "I'll lead the team personally."

Ramsey nodded his acknowledgement and turned to the forward viewscreen. He could just make out the bright disk of the nineth planet. Somewhere near it, five members of his crew were waiting, possibly dying.

He was not about to give up on them.

* * *

Author's Note: So, I looked up "plasma storm" on Memory Alpha after I wrote this and realized there is such a thing in the cannon, and it doesn't look remotely similar to what I was picturing. Aw, well. Maybe an stellar merger causes a special kind of plasma storm?

And in case you're wondering, according to Bing Translator (it does Klingon? Why? Why not?-or as they say on Qo'nos, _lu'?_) and a few other sites, _bIjatlh 'e' yImev! _is a somewhat rude way of saying _shut up_. _petaQ_, of course, aside from being the most well-known Klingon insult, is also a synonym for _idiot_.

And no, I have not forgotten Bratxal. We'll be getting back to him shortly, I swear!


	7. Fateful Decision

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios. Star Trek Online is the creation of Cryptic and Perfect World. All are here used by myself for entertainment purposes only, without permission or intent to profit. Stardates were calculated with the help of the TNG Stardate Calculator available on TrekGuide .com and may be slightly out of sync with those used in the game's lore.

Edit: Previous chapters had a discrepancy where some listed the shuttle's designation as "Shuttlecraft Bravo" and others as "Shuttlecraft Beta." This has been changed to "Shuttlecraft Bravo" throughout. In the future I will try not to get my NATO and Greek alphabets mixed up. :)

* * *

**Fateful Decision**

USS Endurance_, Sam Hayashi's Log, Supplamental:_

_We've escaped from a close encounter with a Klingon warship, but the maneuver threw Ensign Bratxal from his seat to the floor. He's not responding and I can see blood beneath his head. Oh, God help!_

Doctor Lenaris stormed into the cockpit of the shuttle from the aft cabin. His uniform jacket was partially undone and stained with sweat while his gray hair was tousled and tangled with his earring. "This had better be pretty important," he grumbled. "Do you have any idea what you—" His voice trailed off as he saw Sam kneeling over Ensign Bratxal, who lay face-down on the floor, a small blue bloodstain spreading beneath his head. Lenaris staggered over to kneel beside the downed Bolian as well, pushing Sam roughly aside. "Get out of my way and grab a medkit, girl," he said, pulling out a medical tricorder.

Sam glared at him as she got her balance, but she rose to her feet and hurried to get the medkit down out of storage. Bratxal's life may have been in danger: her grudge match with Lenaris could wait.

Lenaris, meanwhile, had turned Bratxal over. The Bolian was unconscious, bleeding from a gash on his forehead. The doctor thrust a hand at Sam. "Dermal regenerator," he said. "Now!"

Sam fumbled the kit open, scattering its contents. She snatched up a long, narrow device and handed it to Lenaris. He held the device over the unconscious Bolian but stared at it before using it. "What are you trying to do, get me to kill him, Ensign?" he demanded. He thrust the instrument in her face. "This is laser scalpel!" He tossed it across the cabin and picked up a nearly-identical device. "This is a dermal regenerator! Don't tell me you can't tell the difference."

"Honestly, no, I can't," Sam said defensively. "They both look the same to me."

"What do they teach cadets these days?" Lenaris grumbled, activating a blue beam and passing it over the cut. The cut closed after a single pass and Lenaris wiped the blood away from Bratxal's face with his uniform sleeve while running another tricorder scan. "Nothing more I can do for him," he muttered to himself.

Sam bit her lip. "Is he going to die?"

"Yes, but no sooner than the rest of us," said Lenaris, rising. "He has a mild concussion, but he may not regain consciousness. Something is suppressing his central nervous system. I suspect it's whatever killed Naisa."

"Naisa is dead?"

"Didn't I just say that, Ensign?"

Sam tried not to let him ruffle her. This was important. She needed to concentrate. "What killed her?" she asked.

"If I knew, I'd tell you. I was just in the middle of running an autopsy when you rudely interrupted my work."

Sam rolled her eyes and got to her feet. "Well forgive me, sir," she said sarcastically. "I just thought one of my crewmates might be brain-dead or bleeding out. I'll try not to let it bother me in the future!"

"Bleeding out?" Lenaris huffed. "Head wounds bleed a lot, I'll grant you, especially on Bolians, but that's not even close. I could show you _bleeding out_."

Sam's hand drifted to her hip, where her phaser was holstered. "Is that a threat, sir?" she said, eyes narrowing.

He glared at her. "If it is, what do you intend to do about it?"

Sam's fingers brushed the handle of the phaser. It would be easy. Lenaris was standing just five feet away and there wasn't anything the old man could do to stop her if she decided to draw on him. Her anger bubbled up and she had the urge to do just that, but she remembered when she'd held a phaser on Bratxal just a few minutes earlier. The phaser was still set on level 10: the kill setting. She made herself lower her hand and take a step back.

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. _That was way harder than it should have been_, she thought. _This is the second time today I've nearly killed a fellow Starfleet officer. This isn't like me at all! I've got more angst than half the mecha pilots in anime combined, and that's saying something._ "What's wrong with me?" she wondered aloud.

Lenaris glared at her for a moment longer, then lowered his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, further tangling it with his earring. "Judging from the fact that you're out of uniform and as emotionally on-edge as I am, I'd say the same thing that's wrong with me and Bratxal, and the same thing that went wrong with the crew of Shuttlecraft Alpha. Our bodies and our minds are behaving like we're increasingly and severely intoxicated, but there's nothing in our systems that can explain it."

Sam opened her eyes and looked to the doctor. "And what will happen to us?"

"If I don't find a cure, and we don't kill each other first, the same thing that happened to Naisa," he said. "Her central nervous system became so deeply supressed that it stopped functioning. First her breathing went, and then her other autonomic functions. I kept her alive as long as I could, but my options were pretty limited without opening up the isolation chamber." He shook his head. "Multiple organ failure, cause unknown."

Sam swallowed. "But that's consistent with whatever's going on here, right?" she asked. "It's just like alcohol."

"In massive overdose, yes." He sighed. "I know I've heard about something like this before, but I can't think where." He shook his head. "Something about people freezing to death fully clothed in the shower." He rubbed sweat from his forehead. "Speaking of which, Computer, what's the temperature in here?"

"Cabin temperature has been set at ten degrees Celsius. "

"Lower it by a degree," said Sam.

"Belay that," said Lenaris. "That's half the normal temperature already. We keep this up and we'll freeze to death."

"But why do I feel so hot?" asked Sam.

Lenaris pulled out his tricorder and scanned her. "It's one of the symptoms of alcohol intoxication in humanoids," he said. "It causes the dilation of blood vessels, bringing more, warmer blood to the surface, where it spends its time warming up your skin's heat sensing nerves and the surrounding air instead of keeping your internal organs the temperature they're supposed to be." He shut the tricorder. "You're already showing early signs of hypothermia. If I were you, I'd put the uniform jacket back on."

Sam nodded and did so numbly. "This is just like what happened on the other shuttle," she said. She turned back to the doctor. "You said it reminded you of something, of people freezing to death."

"Fully clothed in the shower," he said. "Don't ask me where, but I remember some incident that involved it, unless my mind is playing tricks on me now."

Sam shook her head. "No, I remember it too." She raised a finger. "The _Enterprise_," she said suddenly. "That's it: it was connected with the _Enterprise_."

"Which one?"

"The first one, I think…or maybe it was the _Enterprise-D_," she walked over to one of the consoles and pulled up a library database query. "Computer, display all available records relating to the _USS Enterprise_'s visit to—what was it?—Psi 2000?"

"Access established," said the computer. A list of logs and files appeared on Sam's display. She opened them one by one.

"I was right," she said. "It was the original _Enterprise_. Look here: _Captain's Log, Stardate 1704.2: the science party we were to have picked up has been found dead_—blah, blah, blah—_station personnel frozen to death_—etc—_one found fully clothed in the shower_…"

"Let me see that," said Lenaris, pushing past her. Sam felt a flare of anger, but she made herself calm down. He was only caught up in the discovery she'd just made, after all, not actually trying to get on her nerves.

"Polywater," he said, after studying the files for a minute. "Of course, that makes sense. Tricorders aren't normally configured to scan for it, and it's so rare…" He opened his tricorder and quickly recalibrated it. Then he ran it over Sam, Bratxal, and himself. He nodded grimly. "There are high concentrations of polywater in all of us," he said.

"Polywater?"

"That's what I said. It's a chain of water molecules, all bonded together, end to end. It's only formed under extreme gravimetric conditions, like the collapse of a planet, or a star," he said.

"Or a merger of binaries?"

Lenaris nodded. "Once formed, it can pick up carbon from the humanoid body. It causes symptoms similar to alcohol intoxication and spreads like a virus, causing other water molecules to polymerize, which cause others to polymerize, and so on. It's a chain reaction that keeps running until it reaches equilibrium concentrations."

"Which is apparently at levels high enough to be lethal," said Sam.

Lenaris mopped his brow. "That's one of the things that doesn't make sense here. Polywater intoxication spreads only by skin-to-skin contact, and it's not directly lethal."

Sam thought back. "I touched Naisa when I was on the other shuttle. I don't think I touched Bratxal, though, at least not until a few minutes ago."

Lenaris nodded. "So, you should be infected, but you didn't touch me, and I didn't touch anyone on the shuttle. I'm as intoxicated as you are, though, and Bratxal is nearly the same. It doesn't make any sense!"

Just then, the computer chimed. "Decryption sequence complete," it said.

"What's that?"

"The datapad I brought back from the other shuttle," Sam said. "I had the computer decrypting its contents." She turned to the datapad. "Computer, display decrypted file."

The computer acknowledged with a tone and, to Sam's surprise, a video file appeared on the Klingon datapad's screen. On it, the face of an Orion woman—Naisa, she supposed—appeared with a damaged Klingon shuttle in the background.

The Orion woman smiled coldly. "If you're viewing to this recording, it means that I'm already dead…and you soon will be. My name is Naisa D'falas, and I am dying here already. I have what your physicians call Darnay's Disease, and though I'm still in the earliest stages, there is no cure, and the disease is always terminal." She glared from the screen. "I am determined not to go quietly, though. I will make a name for myself, by being the one to destroy the Federation once and for all."

Sam shivered. "Did it suddenly get creepy in here, or is it just her?" she whispered.

"Hush," Lenaris snapped, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"I've engineered a unique strain of polywater," Naisa went on. "Like its naturally-occurring cousins, it can evade detection and decontamination techniques, but unlike them, it can kill its victims directly. What's more, it's a highly contagious airborne form. No matter what precautions you've taken, you're no doubt infected by now. The polywater is present in the perspiration on the skin, the fluids of the body, the moisture of the breath, and the very humidity of the air. It can lie in wait on any surface for decades. It can survive freezing, and upon contact with environmentally controlled air, it will immediately return to an airborne form and infect the surrounding atmosphere." She smiled. "You'll find it's literally unstoppable, and of course, there is no cure." Behind her in the video the air stirred and the whine of a shuttle's atmospheric engines could be heard. Naisa's smile broadened, showing teeth. "Looks like my first victims are here." She raised a hypospray to her neck and injected herself. "Now, we both only have a few hours to live. Enjoy them, and remember me." With that, the video ended and the screen went black.

Sam let out a long breath. "Well, I think we can safely say that she was evil, and that we are not sorry she's dead."

"And that she's taking us with her," said Lenaris, pulling out his tricorder.

"Yeah…I'm not really sure how I feel about that, but I'm gonna say _not cool_."

Lenaris looked up at her. "Do you ever stop talking, Ensign?"

Sam bit her lip and made no reply.

The doctor didn't wait for her. He held up his tricorder and ran a scan of the cockpit. "She's right," he said at last. "There are significant concentrations of polywater in the air, and virtually every surface on the ship is coated with it." His face darkened. "We're a plague ship, waiting for a port to devastate. If we return to _Endurance_ like this, everyone aboard the ship will be dead and cold by this time tomorrow."

"We've got to warn them," said Sam. She turned to the comm station, but stopped short. The console was dark, with burn marks and cracked paneling. "Computer, what's the status of our communications systems?" she asked.

"Communication systems are offline," said the computer. "Transmitter and receiver arrays have been damaged."

"Great," she said. Sam moved to the copilot's seat and pulled up the sensor readout. "The _Endurance_ is on her way here already. ETA ten minutes."

"We're going to infect them and kill them all," said Lenaris.

"There has to be a way we can stop this, a cure or something," said Sam.

"In ten minutes?"

"I can buy more time," Sam insisted. "There's a Y-class planet nearby. Their sensors should have a hard time picking us out from there."

Lenaris shook his head. "It's no use. You heard what she said: there is no cure. Even if there were, I don't have the equipment or the time to synthesize it."

"I said I could buy you more time—"

"You don't get it, do you?" said Lenaris, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "We have hours to live, _hours_! I can't even begin to research a cure in that time." He shook his head. "No, our lives are over. The only thing we can do now is accept that and try to save the _Endurance_."

"Accept that?" Sam repeated, disbelieving. "How can you just _accept_ that?"

"It's easy enough if you have the wits to realize what's at stake," said Lenaris. "Computer, what's the status of the self-destruct system?"

"Self-destruct system is fully operational."

Sam's eyes went wide. "Whoa, whoa! What are you doing?"

"Ending the threat to _Endurance_ the only way we can," he said. "Not a single molecule of polywater can be allowed to reach the ship, and the only way to ensure that is to destroy it, and everything aboard."

"But _we're_ aboard!"

"That's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

But Sam wasn't. "Don't…don't the Prophets frown on suicide?"

"I'm sure they'll make an exception."

"But there's _got_ to be another way!"

Lenaris looked at her. "It's either us or them, Ensign. The three of us die, or the whole crew is killed—and after them maybe the whole of Starfleet, who knows! You could end up saving more lives in death than all of those doctors at the Juetean medical symposium combined."

"I would rather save them _and live_," said Sam.

"And what makes you think God or the universe or whatever it is you believe in gives a damn what you want?" Lenaris challenged.

"Well, I'd like to believe that if God made me alongside everything else, He had a pretty compelling reason to do so, and that He cares and plans accordingly," said Sam. "I've been through too many close-calls flying to believe otherwise."

The Bajoran doctor huffed. "If you'd seen what I'd seen, you'd know different," he said. "The Occupation, the forced labor camps, the bloodied bodies of resistance fighters, the Dominion, the Klingons…if the Prophets—or whatever god you believe in—have a plan, they certainly couldn't care less about us." For a moment, Sam though she saw tears shining in Lenaris' eyes, but then he turned away. "Computer, arm the self-destruct, authorization Lenaris-pi-one-three-oh."

"Warning," said the computer. "Self-destruct has been armed. Confirm command code to initiate final countdown."

"I can't let you do this," said Sam. Her hand drifted toward her hip. "There's another way, just let me take the time to find it!"

Lenaris shook his head. Now she really could see tears running down his cheeks. "This is the only way, girl. I'm sorry."

As he spoke, Sam drew her phaser. She thumbed the setting up seven levels. "I'm sorry, too," she said.

If Lenaris heard the phaser powering up, he didn't acknowledge it. "Computer, this is Doctor Lenaris Bekni," he said. "Command code is zero, zero, zero, destruct, ze—"

Sam raised the phaser in one smooth motion and fired.

* * *

Author's Note: And now you know what happened to Bratxal. That's the good news. The bad news is there's another cliffhanger here…and the so-so news is that I'll make sure you know what happens to Lenaris first thing next chapter.

Also, if you hadn't guessed, yes, the disease here is a version of the ailment that struck the _Enterprise NCC-1701_ in "The Naked Time" and the _Enterprise-D_ in "The Naked Now." Both episodes featured someone in the original group of victims being discovered frozen to death while showering fully clothed. In both cases polywater was the culprit, but I believe it was only named as such in the Next Generation episode. The log entry Sam quotes is an abridgement of the actual log entries from the Original Series episodes, except the part about the fellow in the shower has been added, as it was not mentioned in the log.

Naisa's disease (Darnay's disease) is an incurable terminal disease mentioned in "The Schizoid Man." I don't know whether or not it can affect species other than humans (such as Orions), but since it doesn't say it's only for humans on Memory Alpha, I'm going to say it can be contracted by Orions as well.

The final self-destruct authorization is a tribute to _The Search for Spock_, where this was the final code that the commanding officer needed to enter into the _Enterprise_ computer to initiate the 1-minute countdown. There's really no logical reason for a shuttle to have the same self-destruct program: it was just fun to do.


	8. The Race

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios. Star Trek Online is the creation of Cryptic and Perfect World. All are here used by myself for entertainment purposes only, without permission or intent to profit. Stardates were calculated with the help of the TNG Stardate Calculator available on TrekGuide .com and may be slightly out of sync with those used in the game's lore.

* * *

**The Race**

USS Endurance_, Sam Hayashi's Log, Supplamental:_

_We discovered a message from Naisa D'falas, the Orion "defector" we brought aboard the shuttle. Apparently all she really wanted was to kill us all, so she infected herself and us with a deadly airborne version of the polywater infection that nearly led to the destruction of the original _USS Enterprise_, hoping we would bring it back to _Endurance_ and spread it to the crew. It's clearly started affecting our judgment. Doctor Lenaris just tried to set the self-destruct…and there was only one way I could stop him. Sorry, Doc._

The phaser whined and Doctor Lenaris collapsed over the console. His body sagged to the floor. Sam lowered the phaser, checking its setting as she did so. It was set to Level 1, light stun. She'd thumbed it up through its max setting of 16 and back to its lower setting, since pushing the setting button up seven times to turn over the power controls was faster than pushing it down nine times to get the same result. Sam silently thanked Commander Reyes for drilling that one into her head.

"Computer, what's the status of the self-destruct?" she asked.

"Self-destruct has been armed," said the computer. "Authorization for final countdown has not been confirmed."

"Thank God for that," Sam muttered. She holstered her phaser and pulled off an access panel, exposing the shuttle's command chips. Her eyes ran over the circuitry displays and she picked out the isolinear chips responsible for the self-destruct program. She pulled them and shattered them beneath her boot for good measure.

"Warning, self-destruct system has been disabled," said the computer.

"You're welcome," said Sam. She moved to the pilot's chair. The first thing she needed to do was buy herself some time. She activated the shuttle's impulse engines and sent it away from the approaching _Endurance_, toward the ninth planet, the Y-class world. It took a matter of minutes for the shuttle to arrive, outpacing the slower starship. As it traveled, Sam wracked her brain. Lenaris had been right about one thing: if even one molecule of polywater made it aboard _Endurance_, the ship was doomed. Of course, if _they_ didn't make it aboard the _Endurance_, they were doomed as well. _If only there was some way to separate us from the molecules…_, she thought as she settled the shuttle into a low orbit.

She gasped. "That's it!" she said. "Just like Lenaris Bekni's pants!" She'd reprogrammed the molecular imaging scanners to discriminate between the Bajoran doctor and everything on him and the atoms that made up his pants. If she could reprogram the sensors here to discriminate between her and her crewmates and the polywater, she could safely beam them to the _Endurance_ and leave all of the polywater behind.

She would need time. Distinguishing polywater molecules scattered throughout, around, and on the body was a very different thing from distinguishing an article of clothing, even at the molecular level. It had taken her days to write the original program, but of course, she didn't have days. She might not even have hours. Fortunately, she hadn't had hours to work at the transporter console either when she'd gone to beam down the doctor, so she'd come up with a work-around. She pulled out her tricorder, opened it, and set it on the transporter control console in the cockpit. "Computer, access files stored on my tricorder," she said.

"Access established."

"Bring up executable file Hayashi-one-one-sigma and interpose it over the controls for the molecular imaging scanners." The computer chimed acknowledgement. "Open it for editing on this console."

The program and its various subroutines spread out before her. "Alright, time to get to work!"

* * *

USS Endurance_, Captain Nathaniel Ramsey's Log, Supplemental:_

_After disabling the _IKS Azetbur_ and hearing her Captain's warning about a possible disease set loose on the shuttle by the Orion defector Naisa D'falas, we're making our way to Shuttlecraft Bravo at best speed, intercept in five minutes. All we know is that the disease is said to be highly contagious and to cause its victims to show poor judgment, almost as if drunk. We'll take all due precautions, but I am _not_ condemning my people to die._

"And that, ladies and gentlebeings, is the last turn," said Ensign Pozel, pulling the _Endurance_ around the last gravitational obstacle with obvious relief.

"Best speed to Shuttlecraft Bravo," said Ramsey.

"Aye, sir," said the Tellarite. "ETA, five minutes."

Suddenly, the science station chirped. "Sir, the shuttle's altering course."

"Coming toward us?"

Avrel shook her head. "No, sir. They're heading away at full impulse."

Ramsey looked to the helm. "Pozel?"

"I can still only give you half-impulse, max," she said.

Ramsey turned back to science. "What's their course?"

"Direct for the ninth planet," she said. Her console chirped again. "Sir, the plasma storms have ravaged the planet's atmosphere and turned it into a Y-class planetoid. Once they enter orbit we'll be unable to track them due to the thermionic radiation in the atmosphere."

"Can you reconfigure scanners to penetrate it?"

"Only over a very short range, sir," she said. "It could take us a half hour to find the shuttle, and that's if we enter orbit ourselves."

"A Y-Class planet is not a good place to visit," remarked Tazark.

Ramsey nodded. With toxic atmospheres, high temperatures, and a predilection toward discharging dangerous thermionic radiation at random, the so-called "Demon-class" planets were not even safe to orbit. "Clearly the disease is effecting their judgment," he said. "Tazark, make sure that security team is suited up and ready to go."

"They're ready, sir," the Efrosian assured.

"Good," said Ramsey. "Once we beam you in, I want you to stun everyone on that shuttle immediately. I don't want to take any chances on them injuring themselves or you while they're delusional."

Tazark nodded. "Aye, sir."

"Sir, the shuttle has entered orbit of the ninth planet," said Avrel. "I've lost it."

"We'll be in orbit ourselves in about ten minutes," said Pozel. "I'll set us up in a search pattern."

* * *

USS Endurance_, Sam Hayashi's Log, Stardate…uh…Stardate 80221.8:_

_I'm hiding the shuttle in orbit of a Y-Class planet while I work on a way to use the transporters to separate us from the deadly polywater virus. I almost have the transporter program complete. I just need to run a few more tests…ah, crap, that doesn't look good._

"Alright, Computer, let's see if this works," said Sam. Her fingers touched the _Energize_ button. The program ran through the transporter sequence, dematerializing and rematerializing a replicated ham sandwich on the shuttle's transporter pad. She turned to watch. The sandwich vanished in a cascade of blue sparks and reappeared in the same place a second later. Sam made a face. The good news was that Doctor Lenaris' medical tricorder wasn't picking up any polywater on it—at least not until molecules in the shuttle's ambient atmosphere began to settle on its surface. The bad news was that it also wasn't picking up any regular water. The sandwich looked like a strange cross between a slab of sedimentary rock and a mummy.

"Okay…well, we're good to go as long as I don't mind killing us and preserving us all instantly." Sam sighed. "Great, just great. I'll have to add some sort of a sorting algorithm to allow the program to distinguish regular water from polywater—though I should probably give myself a margin for error, since if even one molecule of polywater gets through, this'll all be for nothing and I'll only succeed in killing everyone." Cheery thoughts. "Of course, too much margin for error, and I wind up with this." She toed the ham sandwich off the pad with her boot. It crunched and crumbled like it was made out of sand. Sam made a face.

She glanced over to Lenaris. "As much as we don't get along, and as much as I'm not sorry I stunned you, it would be really helpful if you would wake up right now. You're the only person I know who could tell me off the top of your head by how much a person can be safely dehydrated with a transporter."

But neither Lenaris nor Bratxal were conscious. She kept checking on them. They were still breathing, for the moment anyway, but their intoxication was getting worse. If she didn't solve this soon, they might not ever wake up…and worse, she might join them.

A tone sounded at the pilot's station. "Warning, proximity alert," said the computer. "Starship approaching bearing 185 mark 102."

"Just what I need," said Sam. She stumbled over to the pilot's chair, mentally noting that her balance was starting to deteriorate. "At least I'm not seeing double yet," she told herself. She checked the sensors. "Then again, seeing single is bad enough."

It was the _Endurnace_, bearing down on the shuttle. There could be no doubt she'd been seen. "Computer, raise shields." The computer acknowledged with a tone. "Alright, let's try some evasive maneuvers—"

Suddenly, the ship jerked backward. Sam was thrown back in her chair. "Computer, what was that?"

"Shuttle has been locked in a tractor beam."

Sam checked the displays herself and saw the _Endurance_, unable to beam someone on, was tractoring the shuttle in. "No, no, no!" she said. "If you so much as set foot inside this shuttle you'll all be infected." She brought the shuttle's engines up to full power, but the ship was still being dragged backwards. "Computer, rotate shield harmonics," she said.

The computer complied, then gave a negative tone. "No effect on tractor beam integrity."

Sam bit her lip. She only had one option left, and she didn't like it. The _Endurance_'s shields were down, and she had a perfect shot at the tractor emitter. "Willful destruction of Federation property, treason, and a few other fun charges…verses everyone who would be at my court martial being dead from lethal polywater intoxication," she said, weighing her options aloud. "You know, I'll face the court martial if it comes to that. I will not be responsible for the death of my friends." She pulled up weapons controls, powered the phasers, and fired.

There was a small explosion on the outer hull of _Endurance_ and the tractor beam vanished. Shuttlecraft Bravo shot away like a missile. She angled the ship down into the ionosphere. _Hopefully that will discourage them from trying again_. Then, she saw the aft sensor readout. The _Endurance_ was following her. She could stay ahead of it, but only so long as she was at the helm—and if she stayed at the helm that program wouldn't get done…and she and her crewmates here, in the very least, would pay the price.

"There's only one course I can set automatically that they won't follow," she told herself. She punched the trajectory into the navigational computer. "Computer, execute the specified course on autopilot."

"Warning, specified course is unstable," said the computer. "There is a 98.9% chance that execution will result in a crash."

"Given the atmospheric conditions, I'd up that to 100%," said Sam. "Execute the course. All I need is a few more minutes…" She already had an idea for how to solve the dehydration problem. She just needed time to implement it.

"Course executed. Autopilot enabled," said the computer. "Estimated time to impact, three minutes."

Sam bit her lip. She'd better hurry!

* * *

USS Endurance_, Captain Nathaniel Ramsey's Log, Stardate 80221.8:_

_We've located the shuttle again. We attempted to approach it and beam in our security team, but the shuttle raised its shields. When we locked a tractor beam on it, the shuttle fired on us. Now we're engaging it in a high-speed chase through the upper atmosphere of the planet. Clearly, the crew of Shuttlecraft Bravo has had their judgment severely compromised._

"Shall I target their engines, sir?" asked Tazark.

Ramsey shook his head. "They only disabled our forward tractor emitter, I'm not going to return fire and risk having Starfleet officers killing Starfleet officers today."

An alarm sounded at the helm. "Sir, we have a big problem here," said the Tellarite.

"Which is?"

"It's the planet, sir. From the look of their course, Shuttlecraft Bravo intends to ram it, and I don't think that'll end any better for them than it did for that Orion corvette earlier today."

"I can confirm that, sir," said Avrel. "Three minutes to impact!"

"We can't follow them," said Pozel. "Aside from the obvious problem of ramming a starship into a Y-class planet, our damaged hull can't take much more atmospheric strain. We're going to have to pull up."

Ramsey gripped his armrests. If he ordered the ship to pull up, he was condemning the people aboard that shuttle to die. If he didn't, he was risking the lives of everyone aboard his ship.

"Two minutes to impact!" said Avrel.

An alert sounded. "We've got new hull breaches appearing on decks 7, 8, and 9," Tazark warned. "Emergency forcefields are holding for now, but they won't last long."

"Your orders, Captain?" asked Pozel, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder.

Ramsey clenched and unclenched his fists. He closed his eyes. In the end, he didn't have much choice. There was nothing he could do for Shuttlecraft Bravo now. "Pull up," he said. "Get us clear of the atmosphere."

"Aye, sir," said Pozel. He could feel the deck pitch backward slightly as the swirling clouds on the forward viewscreen began to clear, replaced with a starfield.

"One minute to impact," said Avrel.

"Forgive me," Ramsey whispered, thinking of Amelia Tanner, Stendos, Lenaris Bekni, Bratxal, and Sam Hayashi—five names he would be forced to add to the official casualty lists for this mission in just 60 seconds.

"Impact in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…" The planet spun on below, its red-orange clouds concealing Shuttlecraft Bravo's last moments from the naked eye. "The shuttle has hit," said Avrel. "It…it hit a cliff face almost head on at a velocity of over Mach 3. There's nothing left of it, sir."

Just then, Tazark's console blared a warning. "Sir, we have an unauthorized transport in progress, materializing in Transporter Room Two." The console gave another tone. The Efrosian's eyes widened. "Sir, it's Doctor Lenaris and Ensigns Bratxal and Hayashi!"

The Captain's hand flew to his combadge. "Ramsey to Lenaris!" No answer. "Ramsey to Bratxal!" No answer. "Ramsey to Hayashi!"

"H-hayshi here sir," said a scratchy, yet familiar voice. He could hear a medical tricorder running in the background. "We beamed in clean, but…well, let's just say you've got three people down here who could _really_ use a drink of water."

"We'll see about that," said Ramsey. He turned to tactical. "Tazark, get your security team down there and escort those people to sickbay immediately."

"Yes, sir," said the Efrosian, turning and rushing for the turbolift.

"Pozel, do we have warp drive yet?"

The Tellarite nodded. "Sorna got it back online just fifteen minutes ago."

"Then get us out of here, best speed." He rose. "You have the conn as well. I'll be in sickbay."

* * *

Author's Note: "Modern" type-2 phasers (the ones that look like pistols instead of playing cards) are confirmed to have 16 settings when O'Brian goes through all of them in the DS9 episode "Hard Time." I'm not sure what would really happen if you tried to raise the setting at level 16, but I'm assuming it's just like a clock or any other device with a limited number of things to choose from and only one or two buttons to choose with and that it would just start over at level 1 again. If anyone can prove me wrong, I'll be happy to rewrite this in such a way that Sam is vaporized by a phaser set to overload, followed swiftly by Lenaris activating the self-destruct and killing himself and Ensign Bratxal. The End! ;D

I bet you didn't see the transporter trick from chapter 1 coming back. To tell the truth, I didn't either, but it's fun when stories surprise me. It does mean, however, that Doctor Lenaris was unpantsed by a Chekhov's Gun. How embarrassing!


	9. Gifts

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios. Star Trek Online is the creation of Cryptic and Perfect World. All are here used by myself for entertainment purposes only, without permission or intent to profit. Stardates were calculated with the help of the TNG Stardate Calculator available on TrekGuide .com and may be slightly out of sync with those used in the game's lore.

* * *

**Gifts**

USS Endurance_, Junior Flight Control Officer Samantha Hayashi's Log, Stardate 80227.7:_

_It's been two days since the crash of Shuttlecraft Bravo. The _USS Falchion_ was sent on a follow-up mission to the Sigma Hydra System and reported no sign of the _IKS Azetbur_ and only debris remaining of the other shuttle. Ensign Bratxal is still in sickbay, recovering. I have a little surprise prepared for him. I figure I owe him one for the help he provided during the mission…and for almost shooting him. Meanwhile, Doc Lenaris and I have recovered from our ordeal enough to return to duty. For me, that means it's time to face the music. A lot of the things I did during that mission were…questionable, at best. In hindsight, I have a lot to answer for, and this time I'm not going to try to dodge the bullet. I'm going to speak to the Old Man and face the consequences of my actions head on._

* * *

Sam sat across the ready-room desk from Captain Ramsey, her posture stiff as she listed the charges. "Willful destruction of Federation property, assault on a superior officer, unlawful firing on a Starfleet vessel…"

"Are you sure you're not missing high treason on there, somewhere?" Ramsey asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I was just getting to that," said Sam.

"It's quite the list," said Ramsey. "As the accused, do you want to speak to legal council before we proceed? I'm sure you can get hold of your family's legal team."

Sam shook her head. "These charges are the results of _my_ actions. They're my responsibility."

Ramsey took a deep breath and sat back. "Well, due to extenuating circumstances, I'm dismissing them."

"Sir, I blew up the tractor emitters, deliberately crashed the shuttle, and shot Doctor Lenaris in the back. Even for me, that's a bit much to get away with."

"Sam, I'm not letting you get away with anything," Ramsey said gently. "If you hadn't done any one of those things, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. You saved the lives of everyone aboard that shuttle, everyone aboard this ship, and—if the Klingons are to be believed—everyone in the quadrant. I'm not going to court martial you for heroism."

Sam sighed and her posture relaxed. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome," said Ramsey. "Honestly, I'm a bit confused as to why you thought I _would_ bring you up on charges. I've let you get away with murder on this ship before."

"Well, you did say you were going to be stricter after the transporter incident on Juetea…"

"There's a difference between causing trouble for its own sake and causing it because it's the only way to get yourself and others out of a situation alive," said Ramsey. "It's a fine line, but what you did, you did on the right side of it." He fingered a PADD on the corner of his desk. "Besides, if I'm to believe Doctor Lenaris' report, you were the only member of the shuttle crew who kept her head during the whole ordeal."

"I nearly lost it a couple times and killed Bratxal and Lenaris," she confessed.

"_Nearly_ doesn't count under these conditions," said Ramsey. "In fact, in recognition of what you _did_ do, I have a token of appreciation for you." He leaned across the desk and held out a small black box to her.

Sam took it carefully. She glanced from it to Ramsey and back again, then she opened it and gasped. Inside was the silver rank pip of a lieutenant. She looked up. "Sir, do you mean it?"

Ramsey smirked. "I'm not in the habit of playing jokes, Lieutenant," he said. "Now, aren't you out of uniform?"

Sam smiled. "So I am, sir!" She attached the pip to the breast of her uniform, beside her Ensign's pip. She shifted back and forth to let the pips catch the light and laughed. "I guess I just didn't expect to make Lieutenant so quickly—or at all!"

"Oh, don't worry," said Ramsey. "I'm giving you this rank in the hopes that you'll continue to grow into it. I'm sure if you put your mind to it you can find plenty of opportunities to convince me you're not ready."

Sam giggled. "I'll try not to, sir," she said.

"Good. You're dismissed."

Sam rose and headed for the door. As she did, he noticed she was holding a small, flat package in one hand. "May I ask what that is?" he said.

"This?" She lifted the package. "It's a little something I owe Ensign Bratxal," she said, smiling. "I guess Bolians take longer to recover from dehydration than humans, so he's still in sickbay. I thought this would cheer him up."

"Ah," said Ramsey. "Carry on then." He turned back to his desk.

Sam continued out of the room and took the turbolift to sickbay. Once there, she stepped around the biobed where Lieutenant Walsh lay sleeping and approached Bratxal's side. The Bolian looked up at her. He noticed her rank pins and his eyes widened. "Well! Excuse me if I don't stand at attention, Lieutenant. Doc Lenaris seems to think if I lay still it'll give his equipment a better chance at rehydrating my innards. Personally, I'm just glad to still _have_ innards, thanks to you!"

"As you were, Ensign," said Sam, smirking. She handed him the package.

"What's this?" he asked, opening it.

"Something you said I owed you while we were on the shuttle."

He held it up. "Your graduation picture?"

"It's not exactly a pin-up shot, but it _is_ autographed, and it's probably the most widely publicized holophoto of me there is…well, except for the pictures of me streaking on Recara II, but my dad managed to keep my identity a secret in the press that time—," Sam started, then suddenly realized what she was saying. "Uh, I mean, you didn't hear that last part!"

Bratxal smirked. "Duly noted, Lieutenant."

"Lieutenant, is it?"

Sam nearly jumped out of her skin as Doctor Lenaris came up behind her.

"Sorry if I startled you," the old Bajoran said. "I did have something I wanted to say to you, though, Miss Hayashi."

"Um, sure, go ahead."

"I owe you an apology for what happened aboard the shuttle," he said. "I lost control and I nearly killed all of us. I hope the Prophets will find it in their hearts to forgive me my actions, and my cynicism."

"I'm sure that, given the circumstances, they'll be willing to make an exception," said Sam, trying to sound comforting. "Anyway, I was just going." She fingered her rank pips. "It seems I have some uniform changes to arrange." She retreated toward the door.

"I'll hang this up on my wall," Bratxal called after her. "It won't match the others, but I'm sure it will look fine."

"That's the point!" Sam called back, before walking out the door. She smiled to herself. "I'm not like my sisters: I'm a Starfleet officer, I'm better."

* * *

Author's Note: For many of the uniforms in STO, the rank pips are vertical bars worn on the uniform breast. You can just see Sam's in the cover image, across from her combadge. While a variety of colors are selectable, I went with silver for better visibility and shininess!

Well, that's it! I hope you enjoyed it! Leave a review if there was something you particularly liked or if you have any edits or critiques. Thanks for reading! :-)

Up next: _**"Survivors of Yamati"**_  
_When Sam, Carlin, and Antori crash-land on an uncharted planet ruled over by a murderous cult of hardened survivors who worship the Sun Queen of ancient Japanese legend, they must discover the secrets of the mysterious world or be trapped on it forever. Set in 2407, featuring Sam, Carlin, Antori, and the crew of the _USS Nautilus_._


End file.
